
V 










,0 








N f. 



j-^ *» 

^M,. '*>0. -?0 

'. V ° «:,^ 

^ : ^0 o^, , ^ 

. Y» -f ^ y, »\1 ,' 'J ' 

^ ^ ^ rl- y « _0 C' Z' 

“ ' .# , ^-- * ■> N » ’ f° . . 0 % ' ■ ' ' ’ sN'' ^ 

vV s'"'^ > Jr ■>■ „ 1'. =:» ^ ' 

‘ ' ■ b’ - j 



■> « / 


^ <y 


0 N 



■x'^^' ■% 


. V' ° ' ' V^' "JL" 

='^"' 

^ = )>0 °x. ‘ 

> ' * 
y^ <* v-kO C" ^ ^ 

0 " ■♦«>'” V 

o^ ^ 'I <' 0 , V 

a"^ \\‘ 



'^- ^ -«^'^ « V 1 B „ 

r^ ^ ^ 1-^ • 




0 N 


%. I 


fp:* .x^"%- 

A ,, s 


0 o \ 


«5> C 

-? ^ « 

> A' ^ 

yj ; '>' : 

^ = jO °-c ' €>-OT)jr ' 11 

-V 'I ' c<. ^^y/iyM ^ ^ 

x> v> . A 0^) .# 

, * nK^ * 0 H 0 • ^81' V s'^^'r 

. ,:’y 

^ o 'y '^ii^ - ° 

I . i}y' c ® ^ ^ 

' U tt 


0 N G 


V 

^ .A- <=^ 



■^' % . 

-' ‘ <y *t , c -I \v. 

^ i> * *> A V 

O. .0^ s’ 

y <-> U ^ 

✓ 

'/' ‘>^ V 

^ o 0^ 

■» -/ i 

” ^ ^ ' ' * ' ' \>t ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ , 

y- ^ °- » 

^ /A O 




-1 



^ .A-' 





\ B ^ ^ 0 I, K . \ 

■ c«~ 

0^ - ^J- o 

'•'WA *> ^ 




N 0 ^ 0 * 


^ ✓ '‘^li.W’ \ a' * * 5 ! -4 

^ S " ^0 ' 0 , ,V / 

•#“ JkN 

j- •>^ \ "' ,^\\i//yyl^^ v^ 

» c> 0 ^ * ■" ^ 

« 4 •-/» * 




✓* •^vi \ ' 'v>3" ^ 

w y 

^ aV 






■^* ^ ^ ck 

tr 

< ^0 

^v 

^ k <p 

V 

V ^j> /y 

'TH^^ A 

C a^fi! 

vc^ 'k 




« . . ■* a' 


>> a^ril///^ ^ -sr A\ 



'/h “ 't/' 

/ \ \^P % I 



^ Y ^ 

« oo' 

^ >^irafl,l^ o 

C^ ✓ \^Y^ *'~'v y< 

✓ 








'O , 

^ "t * 0 ^ 

\y ^ ^ "a ( 

"> sO''^ - 0 ^ ^ ^ t> f '' ^ 

aO o 

® ^ 5 .^ 

* '^ c^ > '''^^■'^^■^ -ti i-vO ^ ^'‘€-'€A/ ^ ^ 

' ° v"^. . ' /-y = ~ ” y ^ ’ • “ ' \ ’ y't j^.y 

\V ^ c,- -v jA^^ /Ji ’^V> \\ 

,^v ^ ^ V « ® 

^ ^ y/W^M «» aV <p. 

8 ^ ^ ^ c^ c ° ^ ^ o'' A . 1 * . a\ 

A’ ^ 

'^='/. -vy 



<y'^ 


^ V 

“y * 3,0 c? 





<* ^ 0 « ,v 

, 0 ^' .<■''* ^ y- y' 
' •>oo'‘ y 



3 N O ’ „y' 



C, A 





% 

A 

^ fy 

^ «r(\ s? /Yi 
« 

^ YNNN\n \u’./\. 

o 

hs ® 
% z 

A 


« 01 ^ 

' o 











f 



MAJELLA; 


OR, 

NAMELESS AND BLIND. 

V 

A STORY OF THF SUSQUEHANNA. 



ELLA MAUDE STEWART. 

»' 


“ The tissues of the life to be, 

We weave with colors all our own, 
And in the fields of destiny 
We reap as we have sown.’’ 


JtyT® X 


( 


PRINTED BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, 



Copyright, 1892, 

BY 

Ella Maude Stewart. 


TO 


MY MOTHER, 


WHOSE HAND HAS LIFTED MANY A BURDEN, WHOSE SMILE HAS BRIGHT- 
ENED MANY A SHADOW, WHOSE LOVE WILL REMAIN THE SAME 
WHATEVER THE FATE OF MY BOOK MAY BE, I DEDICATE 

THE STORY OF 


M A J E L L A 








. !• 
■ ' 


f 


1 





« 










PREFACE. 


A LITTLE girl sitting alone in the autumn twilight, — 
she cannot see the changeful pictures the firelight throws 
upon the wall, for over her eyes rests a curtain of dark- 
ness. All her life she has seen the sky and the sun- 
shine and the flowers through a veil of dull, gray mist. 

While other children play, she only dreams, and 
always wakens with this resolve, “ When I’ve grown to 
be a woman. I’ll write a book, and into it Fll put the 
story that the winds are always singing,” 

A school-girl sitting alone in the chill of the winter 
midnight. She bends low over the page whose letters 
to her are so dim, and her face is old beyond her years. 

“ ’Tis a useless task,” they say ; “ a hopeless struggle 
for a gain that shall profit her nothing;” but the girl 
says, — 

must learn before I can teach. I must know how 
to write the story others are to read, for the book shall 
surely be written !” 

A young woman sitting alone in the shadowy eventide 
hearing naught but the slumber song of the April rain. 
Before her lies the fulfilment of her childhood’s dreams, 
her girlhood’s hope. 

The book is finished; the story told. To-day she 
launches the fairy bark she saw in fancy long ago. 

It is no grand, majestic queen of ocean formed by a 

5 


6 


PREFACE. 


master hand. It is only a rough-hewn craft, built for the 
people’s pleasure ; for the men and women whose homes 
are our nation’s defence ; for the boys with their bound- 
less ambition, and the girls who are waiting for some- 
thing to do. 

It is to these the young romancer sends her book, 
with only one request, — treat Majella kindly. 

It may be, this child of the shadows will lead some 
one into the light ; and if it is so, the story of the Sus- 
quehanna will not have been told in vain. 

The Author. 

Clifford, Pa., April 22, 1892. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. page 

I. — On the 8.10 Train 9 

II. — The Heathburns 14 

III. — Blind 22 

IV. — Victor’s Decision 30 

V. — Retta 38 

VI. — At the “ Lilacs” 49 

VI r. — Not of the Common Herd 59 

VIII.— The Kannawa Medicine Company 70 

IX. — Harley’s News 77 

X. — Before the Benediction 83 

XI. — Retta’s Experience 90 

XH. — The Expected Guests 102 

X HI.— First Impressions io8 

XIV. — The Story of Madelon .* 117 

XV. — Under-Currents 122 

XVI. — Telling Mella ; . . . . 130 

XVH. — Before the Bridal 138 

XVHI. — A Dark Day 143 

XIX. — Under the Willows with Gertrude 147 

XX. — Under the Willows with Victor 155 

XXL — Too Young to Die 159 

XXH. — M ELLA’S Prayer 165 

XXIII. — Lost Majella 17 1 

XXIV. — The Stranger’s Story 176 

XXV. — A Year Later 181 

XX VL— Retta’s Visit . 188 

XXVII.— Waiting 192 

XXVHL— Losing Faith 199 

XXIX. — Yielding 205 


7 


8 CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER. PAGE 

XXX.— The Plot ' 209 

XXXI.— Flight 214 

XXXII. — Rose Cottage 218 

XXXIII. — Miss Christine’s Story . . • 223 

XXXIV. — Retta’s Reward 232 

XXXV. — One Sabbath Day 240 

XXXVI. — Found, yet Lost 246 

XXXVII. — Death’s Shadows Deepen 252 

XXXVni.— A Friend in Need 258 

XXXIX. — Mother and Daughter 263 

XL. — Free 269 

XLI. — “ According to thy Faith” 273 

XLII. — Echoes and Answers 279 

XLIII. — A Midsummer Night 283 

XLIV. — The Ghost at the Wedding 288 

XLV. — A Generous Bridegroom 293 

XLVI. — As Good Fish in the Sea 298 

XLVII. — The Common Herd, after all 303 

XLVIII. — Firelight, Moonlight, Good-night 31 1 


MAJELLA; 

OR, 

NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


CHAPTER I. 

/ 

ON THE 8.10 TRAIN. 

Woodlands ! Change cars for Silver Lake, Dell- 
deen, Glen Oberon, Netherton, Ticonyac !” And the 
brakeman threw open the door of the passenger, as the 
train slowed up, and finally stopped before a long, low 
building which looked grim and weird under the glare 
of the lamplight. 

There was a quick folding of newspapers, a gathering 
up of grips, gossamers, and umbrellas, then passengers 
hurried out. The last to leave was a woman in a dark 
cloak and thick veil and carrying in her arms a child 
which was almost hidden by a quantity of shawls. 

As she stepped upon the platform, she cast a swift 
glance about as if fearful of being observed, but no one 
paid the slightest heed to the traveller, who approached 
the ticket-office and asked, in a low, sweet voice, with a 
foreign accent, — 

“ When does the next train leave for Glen Oberon ?” 

“ Seven-forty,” said the agent, without raising his 
eyes, 


2 


9 


10 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ And when does it arrive there ?” 

“ Eight-ten,” he answered, glancing up to see what 
manner of creature it was who dared to trespass upon 
his precious time. 

Thank you. A ticket, please.” 

For a moment the Woodlands, Netherton, and Ticon- 
yac employe stood motionless, gazing at the stranger. 
She had thrown back her veil, revealing a wonderfully 
attractive face, — a face young in feature, but old, oh, so 
old, in its calm^ hopeless sadness. Cheeks from which 
the blush and bloom of youth had faded, leaving them 
cold and white as marble. Great, dark eyes with none 
of the gladness of girlhood in them, and waving black 
hair that hung in long ringlets around her forehead. 

“ A ticket for Glen Oberon,” she repeated. With a 
start the agent came back to the business of life, and 
handed a ticket to the stranger, who counted the price 
slowly, as if not accustomed to United States currency. 
After another glance around the waiting-room she retired 
into its darkest corner, drew down her veil, and sat quite 
motionless, till the click and clamor of life about her faded 
into a soft murmur like the far-away flow of a river, and, 
to the homesick wanderer, that river was the Rhone. 

All aboard for Silver Lake, Glen Oberon, Netherton, 
and Ticonyac !” shouted a harsh voice. With a sigh for 
the broken dream, the woman rose, and, gathering the 
shawl closer around her unconscious burden, hastened 
from the room, and was soon seated in a comfortable 
coach, and being borne away through the darkness, as the 
rain beat against the narrow windows, and the shriek of 
the locomotive mingled with the moan of the wind, 
while the train sped swiftly around the storm-swept hills 
of the Susquehanna. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


II 


A pause at Silver Lake, which, in summer, was a 
favorite resort, but now the great hotels seemed dark and 
forsaken, and the far-famed silvery mirror with its bed of 
shining sand tossed its foam-crested waves on its rocky 
shores. 

A halt at Delldeen, a quiet old town, where the very 
dogs were too sleepy to bark, then the train rushed on 
through the storm, till a stentorian voice shouted, “ Glen 
Oberon !” Only two left the car, — one a gentleman, who 
paused a moment to exchange a word with the con- 
ductor, the other our passenger, who, unnoticed by the 
men, disappeared in the darkness. 

On reaching the highway, which ran parallel with the 
railroad, the woman paused as though not quite certain 
which direction to take. 

“The park-gates are not more than a quarter of a 
mile from the station straight back along the track,” she 
murmured, in a half whisper; then added, “That was 
what she said, and this must be the way, but it is so 
dark and cold !” And with a shiver and wistful glance 
at the flickering lights of the station, she turned in the 
opposite direction, and hastened along the broad country 
road, — on one side of it was the track over which she 
had just come, on the other a high fence, apparently 
guarding some private grounds. She had gone but a few 
steps when a faint light shone out in the distance, which, 
as she drew nearer, appeared to issue from one of the 
windows of a stone cottage, evidently a lodge. 

On one side of it were massive iron gates under a 
lofty arch, at whose foundations stood two gracefully- 
carved elks. 

The woman approached the gates and attempted to 
open them, but they were securely locked, therefore, 


12 


M A JELL A; OR, 


gliding cautiously through the bar of light which fell 
across the road, the intruder passed to the opposite side 
of the lodge, where she found a smaller gate ajar, and 
entered the broad avenue over which the maples inter- 
locked their branches. 

Over heaps of fallen leaves, pools of muddy water, up 
the slippery pathway, the weary stranger struggled on- 
ward, until, by the roar of a rain-swollen brooklet and 
the hollow echo of her own footsteps, she knew that she 
was crossing a bridge. 

Here she paused to gain breath and glance about, 
then whispered, “Yes, I am right. This is the bridge 
where she used to sit in the long summer afternoons, 
while he fished for trout in the stream below. Those 
dark shadows, yonder, are the willows between which 
lies the Willow Walk ; and beyond that curve in the 
hill is the lake where the laurels dip their pink blossoms 
in the waves, and the water-lilies lie white and still in 
the long summer mornings. 

“ How plainly she described it all that night, at Cha- 
teau des Roses, when she lay dying. 

“ Ah, Madelon, why could you not have been contented 
in this home among the hills ? I ought to hate you, for 
you have spoiled my life as well as your own. And yet, 
I have travelled all of these weary miles over land and 
sea that you may rest peacefully in your grave beneath 
the roses. Hush, my darling,” as the child moved un- 
easily in her arms, you will soon be safe and happy, I 

trust, while my little Marguerite Ah, well ! God 

will care for Marguerite !“ 

As the woman resumed her walk, the storm increased 
in violence. The half-frozen rain beat fiercely in her 
face and nearly blinded her with its icy-tipped arrows. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


13 


The wind wailed through the forest, and sobbed away to 
the dark valley below as she toiled on. Now, her path lay 
beside the loud-voiced brooklet, past great rocks whose 
mossy covering hung tattered in the blast ; anon, up a long 
gradual slope, until suddenly the maple branches parted. 

She stood in an open space, while before her a broad 
lawn, thickly dotted with laurel and other shrubbery, 
sloped gently up to a mass of masonry in the back- 
ground, from which no ray of light shone out to wel- 
come the weary wanderer. 

Over the rain-soaked grass, up the steps, under the 
dripping vines, and across the wet piazza the woman 
glided with quick, noiseless feet. She stopped at the 
great front entrance, and, kneeling, laid her burden on 
the mat before the door. 

“ Good-by, my darling. Good-by, my Lynola,” she 
murmured, in a voice almost choked with tears. 

I’ve brought you to this beautiful home among the 
laurels, where surely the mistress will be kind to you, 
because you are so helpless. And the master will love 
you because you are so much like the fair- girl-mother 
asleep in her far-off grave.” 

She arose and felt cautiously for the door-bell, but 
failed to find any. After a moment’s hesitation, sum- 
moning all her courage, she uttered a long wailing cry 
that rose and fell and died away in the darkness, and 
gliding down the steps crouched in the shadow of a 
pillar to await the result. But the great house stood 
grim and silent as ever. Returning to the piazza, the 
intruder crept close to one of the long windows, where a 
faint light gleamed beneath the curtains, and then gave 
utterance to a cry so full of sorrow and despair that it 
seemed to startle the very night. 


H 


MAJELLA; OR, 


There were quick movements, eager excited voices, 
and footsteps came echoing along the hall. The strange 
visitor sprang to the ground and hid herself behind a 
clump of laurels as the door opened, emitting a stream 
of light, in the midst of which stood a tall youth gazing 
out into the darkness. Suddenly, with an exclamation 
of surprise, he stooped and lifted the child just as another 
figure appeared, and a manly voice exclaimed, “ What is 
it, Victor ? What have you found ?” 

“ That must be the master of Laurellawn,” whispered 
the eager listener, as she peered through the shrubbery. 
“ He has a good voice, — but voices are deceitful. Ah, 
Richard Heathburn, it is a solemn trust I bring you, to- 
night ! May the God of the widow and fatherless deal 
with you as you deal with Madelon’s child.” 


CHAPTER II. 

THE HEATHBURNS. 

“ Pull down the shades, Victor, and close the hall- 
door. I feel the draught on my feet ; and do turn down 
the light a little, the glare hurts my eyes. I really 
don’t see how you can all read so calmly in such a 
storm. Why, it makes me shiver just to hear the wind.” 
And Mrs. Heathburn drew the fleecy white shawl closer 
about her shoulders and nestled deeper among the crim- 
son cushions of the sofa as she listened to the wind that 
raged and roared among the hills, and sobbed and sighed 
amid the leafless maples. Victor laid down his book 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


15 


and reluctantly arose to obey his mother’s command. 
He was reading a story of the far West, where dusky 
Indian maidens, dashing Mexican gentlemen, and reck- 
less American adventurers all played their varied parts 
in life’s drama. 

It was hard to come back from the spicy orange- 
groves and dreamy romance of Southern California to 
the dark and stormy night. But Victor never disobeyed 
his mother. To him her slightest wish was law. He 
was the only one of the family who never grew vexed 
or impatient with her whims, — who was never tired, or 
at least did not seem to be, of listening to her account 
of her latest symptom, — for Mrs. Heathburn was one of 
those unfortunate women wrecked alike in mental and 
physical health. She truly believed herself to be the 
most afflicted individual in existence. 

No one had ever undergone the trials and tribulations 
which had fallen to her lot. Job would have given up at 
once if he had had her burdens to bear ; and, as her 
mischievous son, Harley, remarked, “ No doubt the Lord 
would have given over too if he had had her instead of 
Job to deal with.” 

Victor and Harley were twins ; but in other respects 
they were as different as two boys reared in the same 
home could have been. 

“ It is a terrible storm !” Colonel Heathburn said, laying 
the Tribune on the table and wheeling around his easy- 
chair in order to face the others. “ I don’t remember 
such a night since I was a boy.” 

“ You speak as though that were some centuries ago, 
father,” remarked Harley, who was coiled up on the rug 
before the fire, amusing himself by pulling Rover’s ears. 

“ It does seem a long time ago when I look at my 


i6 


M A JELL A; OR, 


great overgrown boys,” he replied, while a pleased, proud 
look stole into his eyes as they rested upon the little 
group. And he had a right to be proud, for one might 
have travelled many a mile that stormy night ere he 
found a pleasanter picture than the Heathburns made, 
gathered in the sitting-room at Laurellawn. 

Laurellawn itself was worth a chapter describing its 
beauty; but we must wait until summer sunshine and 
balmy south winds have kissed the maples into life again ; 
until the roses and wild vines clamber over the piazza 
and half conceal the massive stone walls of the mansion 
which for a hundred years had been the home of the 
Heathburns. 

Most prominent among the little group to which we 
have already referred was Colonel Heathburn, the head 
of the family. He was a tall, handsome man, of perhaps 
thirty-six, with an air of conscious pride about him which 
seemed to say, “ I am the master of Laurellawn, and one 
of the richest men in Pennsylvania.” 

Richard Heathburn was what the world calls a fortu- 
nate man. He had but a faint recollection of his mother, 
— a fair, frail woman, whom they had laid to rest beneath 
the mourning pines of Daisy Hill. His father, a cold, 
stern man, whose heart (if he had any) was invested, like 
his gold, in anthracite coal-mines, had died during young 
Richard’s second year at college, bequeathing to his only 
son the stately mansion and broad acres of Laurellawn, 
together with a snug fortune in railway stock, Pennsyl- 
vania mining shares, and Western lands. 

This fortune the son had doubled and tripled, and, 
consequently, had never known the want of money. 

Soon after his father’s death the young heir had gone 
to Europe ; and on his return, a year later, the people of 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


17 


Glen Oberon declared that he was greatly changed. The 
eager, ambitious boy, Dick, was buried somewhere over 
sea, and in his place had come the cold, proud man, 
Richard, with his distrust of the human and his doubts 
of the divine. 

When Richard Heathburn returned from Europe, he 
brought with him his fair young bride, Clara Marshall, 
to be mistress of Laurellawn. He had met her in Paris, 
where he, like others, was attracted by her flower-like 
face and pale golden hair ; and because he was younger 
and handsomer, and had a longer bank account than the 
rest, he won the prize. 

Clara Heathburn at thirty-eight was a mental and 
physical wreck. Not that she was helpless or demented, 
but she had become one of those pitiable women who 
are always too warm in summer and too cold in winter ; 
whose food is never cooked enough, or is always over- 
done. Who grow weary of conversation and feel slighted 
if people do not talk to them ; who, in fact, are at vari- 
ance with the world and everything in it. 

For the last seven years Mrs. Heathburn had seldom 
left her room, unless her husband carried her down 
stairs and laid her on the sofa or in one of the great 
easy-chairs. During all of this time she had never for- 
gotten that she had reigned as a belle for one whole 
winter in the gay French capital, until, as she expressed 
it to a city friend, “ Poor Richard fell so desperately in 
love with me, that I gave up all my bright hopes for the 
future, came to America, and settled down in this horrid 
country town, where there isn’t a family fit to associate 
with since Judge Kingston shut up his cottage at Inter- 
laken and went — nobody knows where.” 

Notwithstanding these years of suffering and discon- 


i8 


MAJELLA; OR, 


tent, Clara Heathburn was far from being unattractive, 
as she lay among the crimson cushions with the folds of 
her dainty blue wrapper falling gracefully about her, one 
slender white hand hanging by her side, and the shaded 
lamp casting too faint a light to reveal the silver threads 
in her long fair hair. 

Seated near his mother at the table strewn with books 
and papers was the hope of the Heathburns, — the house- 
hold idol ; proud, handsome, ambitious, self-willed Victor, 
who from his cradle had been acknowledged the star of 
the family. Only thirteen, yet Colonel Heathburn sel- 
dom made any important decision without first asking his 
opinion. A mere boy, yet his mother was already dream- 
ing of a social, financial, literary, and political career that 
should surpass anything the New World had yet beheld. 

She had fully decided that, after finishing a course at 
the Academy, graduating with honors at Harvard Col- 
lege, completing a brilliant term of study at Heidelberg, 
and making a successful tour of Europe, the young heir 
of Laurellawn should spend a season in London, marry 
the beautiful daughter of an earl, and thus redeem the 
Heathburn family from the deplorably democratic level 
to which they had fallen since old Lord Heathburn’s 
youngest son ran away with his mother’s maid, and, 
coming to America, worked in the coal-mines for his 
livelihood, until, by a shrewd investment, he laid the 
foundation of the Heathburn wealth. 

Victor shared his mother’s ambition up to the point of 
the foreign marriage. There he drew the line most deci- 
dedly, for Victor Heathburn was as true an American boy 
as ever breathed the pure air of freedom, or threw up 
his cap on a Fourth of July morning to the banner of 
his native land. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


19 


In a large arm-chair before the fire, her dainty feet 
resting on a hassock, sat Louise, the acknowledged 
beauty of the family. With her abundant auburn hair, 
her large gray eyes, and her pink and white complexion 
as delicate as the shading of a sea-shell, she certainly 
gave promise of a wonderfully attractive woman. Un- 
fortunately, with her mother’s face, she also inherited 
much of her mother’s character. Though only eleven, 
she had already learned the power that beauty wields, 
and was fast developing into the aristocratic, exclusive 
young lady, which seemed to be Mrs. Heathburn’s high- 
est ideal of womanhood. 

On the rug at her feet, and busily engaged in clipping 
the rosettes from her pretty slippers, lay the black sheep 
of the flock, — careless, thoughtless, fun-loving Harley, 
with his blue eyes, his unmistakably red hair, and face as 
fair as that of his dainty sister. 

No one ever thought of calling Harley a star. No 
one consulted his opinion on important subjects. Even 
Mrs. Heathburn had no plans for the future of her awk- 
ward, overgrown boy. 

Blanche, the youngest of the family, was seated on an 
ottoman at Colonel Heathburn’s side. She was a fair- 
haired child of seven, so slender and delicate that her 
father sometimes trembled lest the rude storms of life 
should blast this tender bud ere it blossomed into the 
flower of womanhood. 

Well, I must say, they wasted a great deal of thread 
in making these slippers,” remarked Harley, as he cut 
off the final stitch and held up the severed rosette for 
his sister’s examination. 

“ Oh, you snipe !” cried Louise, aiming a blow at one 
of his big ears, which he easily avoided. You’re a 


20 MAJELLA; OR, 

mean, horrid, ugly boy, and I think papa ought to pun- 
ish you !” 

Why, dear,” remonstrated her mother, mildly, you 
should never use such strong language. It is neither 
refined nor dignified. Harley,” turning to her son, “ I 
am surprised at your lack of brotherly affection and your 
present ungraceful attitude. Why cannot you be more 
like — Victor, for instance ?” 

“ I suppose, my dear mother, it is because I am a beast 
of another color. Any way, I can’t grow fat on novels 
and poetry. I say, Victor,” flinging the trophy of his 
latest adventure at his brother’s nose, “ has he got her 
yet ?” 

” Has who got whom ?” inquired the reader, brushing 
the unfortunate rosette from the page. 

“ Why, has the young man who was waylaid by Mex- 
ican robbers and had his throat cut succeeded in rescuing 
his best girl, who, after being tomahawked and scalped 
by the Indians, was shut up in a cave with four hungry 
wolves, and guarded by fifty soldiers, each carrying a 
revolver, a butcher-knife, and a lawn-mower?” 

I have found nothing of the sort in this book,” an- 
swered Victor, with dignity. 

“ Oh, well, you haven’t come to it yet ; but you’ll get 
there just the same, and when you do. I’ll bet my new 
jack-knife, he’ll rescue her, kill all the red Indians with 
a pair of button-hole scissors, lay out three of the wolves 
with a crochet-hook, hitch up the other wolf to a big 
nigger’s head that fell off when they were laying the 
Rockies, take his girl, trot off for Plymouth Rock, and 
be married in the same church as the Mayflower.” 

“ There are no such lies in this book. If there were, 
I should not read it !” exclaimed Victor. It is the story 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


21 


of a young girl who was stolen from her home on the 
Western frontier, carried to an Indian camp, and sen- 
tenced to death, because she refused to marry an ugly 
old chief. The appointed time arrived. The prisoner 
was bound to the stake. The chief himself advanced 
with a flaming torch and lit the fagots at his feet. Just 
as the blue smoke curled up around the helpless victim, 
and the savages uttered three fearful war-whoops, a 
stranger rushed in upon the scene. It was the young 
girl’s lover, who had sworn never to rest until he found 
and rescued ” 

I told you so. I knew he was after her,” chimed in 
the delighted Harley. “ You can’t read three pages in a 
book like that, but somebody rescues somebody else 
from something.” 

His father laughed, while little Blanche asked, — 

“ What are novels, papa ?” 

Colonel Heathburn launched at once into a lucid defi- 
nition of that much-shaded class of literature, but was 
interrupted in the midst of his second sentence by Vic- 
tor, who threw down his book, exclaiming, “ Hark ! 
What’s that?” 

Every one listened intently, but heard only the roar of 
the wind and the dash of the rain. 

‘‘What was it, Victor? What did you hear?” the 
colonel inquired. 

“ It sounded like a voice. The voice of some one out 
in the storm.” 

“ Oh, it is impossible, quite impossible !” cried Mrs. 
Heathburn, turning pale at the very thought. 

“ No callers would be out on such a night as this, and 
even if they were, they would come to the front door and 
ring the bell.” 


22 


M A JELL A; OR, 


^‘Oh, no, they wouldn’t, mother mine,” said Harley, 
“ because there isn’t any bell to ring ! Andrew took it 
down to Simpkins this morning for repairs, and it isn’t 
done yet.” 

” I think you must have been mistaken, Victor,” said 
his father. “ The wind often sounds like a human voice 
and the subject was dropped by all except Victor, who 
sat listening intently until the cry was repeated so loud, 
and apparently near, that all heard it distinctly. 

Then Victor sprang to his feet and hastened into the 
hall, followed by his father, and threw open the front 
door. He stood a moment on the threshold, almost 
blinded by the gust of rain and wind ; then a bundle at 
his feet attracted his attention. He lifted it in his arms 
and re-entered the hall just as his father came forward, 
and asked the question in our first chapter, — “ What is it, 
Victor? What have you found?” 

Without waiting to reply, Victor returned to the sit- 
ting-room, and, taking a seat before the fire, unwound 
shawl after shawl, until, as Harley said, he began to 
think it was an Egyptian mummy, wrappings and all. 
At length the last fold was removed, the scarlet hood 
untied, when, seated on Victor’s knee, was the oddest, 
sweetest, strangest little creature the Heathburns had 
ever seen. 


CHAPTER III. 

BLIND. 

It was a little girl, apparently about five years old, 
though so small and slender that, as Blanche afterwards 
said, “ she looked like a big wax-doll, only lots prettier. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


23 


Her hair, which was as black as Poe’s ghastly bird- 
visitor, dampened by the rain, hung in close, thick curls 
about her neck and shoulders, giving her an elfish appear- 
ance. Her eyes, too, were large and dark, and had in 
them a half-hungry, half-pleading expression, as though 
they had always been peering in the darkness for a light 
they could not find. Her mouth was small, but sorrow- 
ful. Indeed, in the whole face there was something 
too old, too sad, too pitiful, for a mere child ; and yet 
wonderfully attractive. 

As the last shawl was unwound, revealing the little 
stranger, Mrs. Heathburn uttered a cry of horror and 
seemed about to faint; but curiosity to see what would 
happen next kept her on the shores of consciousness. 

Colonel Heathburn stood just within the door where he 
had paused to await the result of Victor’s examination. 

In his white face and staring eyes there was something 
more than mere curiosity. As we might look at a mes- 
senger sent from one in the spirit land, Richard Heath- 
burn looked at the child who had come unbidden through 
the storm. 

“ One of Victor’s novel characters, true as preaching,” 
said Harley, who had raised himself on his elbow to get 
a better view. “ But who’d have thought that the pap- 
poose would have come in such a blow as this ?” 

“ Why, Harley,” said Louise, indignantly, “she’s noth- 
ing but a beggar. Just look at her clothes ! They’re 
not a bit better than the children’s down at the poor- 
house, whom mamma will never allow us to associate 
with.” 

“ She isn’t a bit of a beggar, Lou,” cried Blanche, as 
she came boldly forward and laid her hand caressingly 
on the child’s glossy curls. “ She’s a little sister, and 


24 MAJELLA; OR, 

God has sent her right down through the rain-storm. 
Hasn’t he, Victor ?” 

“ Yes, Blanche, I guess he has.” 

“ Well, anyhow, I’d like to know who brought her,” 
remarked the irrepressible Harley ; “ so I suggest that 
father and I take a little walk out on the lawn and see 
if we can’t find out. If she’s a pappoose, as I believe, 
probably the old Injin is waiting around to see what 
becomes of her ; and if she’s an angel, as Blanche thinks, 
like as not half a dozen little cherubs, with a winged 
buggy, are standing out on the piazza ready to take her 
back to the golden streets when she’s finished her call on 
us, poor sinners.” 

Harley, I am surprised at your irreverence !” said 
Colonel Heathburn, gravely. However, I think your 
suggestion a good one, and if you will get the lantern 
we will try to find some trace of the person or persons 
who brought her.” 

Harley arose with alacrity and left the room. He 
soon returned with the required light. 

“ We’d better get your fire-arms, father,” he remarked, 
as he set down the lantern to button up his coat, adding, 
“ If it’s an Indian, he’ll be sure to have his tomahawk, 
and even if it is an angel, it may be one of the lower class.” 

“ I hardly think it will be necessary,,” his father replied ; 
but, to every one’s surprise, he went to the library and took 
out a handsome revolver from his private drawer. They 
would have been still more surprised, had they heard 
him murmur, as he examined the weapon carefully, — 

“ Who knows ; it may be that, after all these years, the 
time of vengeance has come at last.” 

Returning to the hall, he signified his readiness to 
accompany his son, and together they went out into 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


25 


the darkness. In fifteen minutes they returned, and 
reported that not the slightest trace of any human crea- 
ture could be found. 

Meantime, Victor and Blanche had been busily en- 
gaged in examining the child’s wraps and other clothing, 
hoping to find some solution to the mystery which sur- 
rounded her, but without success. In vain they shook 
out the folds of the scarlet dress, which, though not of 
the finest material and now soiled and travel-stained, 
still gave evidence of the hand that had made it so 
neatly. In vain they rolled up the sleeves from the 
slender wrists and removed the shoes and stockings 
from the little cold feet. In vain they even folded down 
the velvet collar from about the throat. 

No tiny note with its pitiable prayer for mercy. No 
curious ring or twisted bracelet witl^ its unreadable in- 
scription. No quaintly-carved locket with a fair lady’s 
face hidden beneath its lid (all so popular in the modern 
novel) could be discerned. During this rather trying 
ordeal, the child sat quite still on. Victor’s knee, appar- 
ently indifferent to results. 

“ I guess she must be deaf and dumb,” Harley re- 
marked, as he took his favorite position on the rug. 

“ No, she isn’t,” answered Victor, indignantly ; then 
asked, — 

“ What is your name, little girl ?” 

The child turned her head quickly, but made no re- 
ply. He repeated the question, and she answered in a 
low, sweet voice, but not one word could they under- 
stand, for she spoke in a foreign tongue. 

“ What is it ? What language does she speak, father ?” 
cried Victor, greatly excited. 

“ I do not know ; that is, I am not sure,” replied 
3 


26 


MAJELLA; OR, 


the colonel, hesitatingly. “ It sounds like provencial 
French, with a mixture of some other language. Ask 
her another question, Victor.” 

But it was not necessary, for the child spoke again in 
the same musical voice. 

“Yes, it is French,” the colonel said, “although 
thickly interspersed with either Spanish or Italian. Un- 
fortunately, I never did understand the latter language, 
and, as I have not studied the former for years, I fear we 
shall be able to learn nothing from her, unless you and I 
can bring our slight knowledge of French into practical 
use, Victor.” 

But Victor’s conjugation of avoir, and exercising in 
vous parlez and parlez-W2^i“, seemed to be of little assist- 
ance now. 

“ She evidently wants something,” he remarked, with 
a puzzled shake of his head, as the child spoke again, 
and helcf out her hand with a pleading gesture. “ But I 
am sure I don’t know what it is. Can’t you help us, 
mother? You understand French.” 

“ Well, I can tell you,” interrupted Harley, “if I haven’t 
swallowed a French grammar and ate up two or three 
German readers. She’s hungry. That’s what ails her. 
They have early suppers in heaven, or else she didn’t 
relish the angle worms and rattlesnakes the Injins serve 
for dessert.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” Victor admitted, reluctantly. 
“ Anyhow, it will do no harm to try. Ring the bell, and 
tell Maggie to bring in — let me see — some sponge cake 
and raspberry jam.” 

“ Good gracious ! you must think she’s used to 
scrumptious fare,” exclaimed Harley. “ Well, I give 
you fair warning. If she has the small-pox in conse- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 2 / 

quence, you will have to go for the doctor ; for I won’t 
stir a step on such a night as this.” 

“ Pray, what would you give her ?” Victor asked, 
impatiently. 

“Your Honor, I’d suggest a bowl of bread and milk.” 

“ I really think Harley is right,” his father remarked. 

“ Oh, what you please,” said Victor, with offended 
dignity. 

“ If the child must be fed and attended to, why not 
send her to the kitchen ?” Mrs. Heathburn asked. “ Her 
presence here makes me so nervous !” 

“ Oh, very well. I can take her into the dining-room, 
if the poor little thing disturbs you,” exclaimed her son, 
whose temper by that time was considerably ruffled. 

“ No, please don’t go away, Victor,” his mother cried, 
ia^ dismay. “ No one will attend to the fire, or see that 
the soapstone at my feet is kept at the right temperature, 
if you go.” 

Just at this moment Maggie answered the bell, and 
was requested to bring in the bread and milk. When it 
was brought the child did not appear to notice it, but, 
when Victor took the spoon and began to feed her, she 
ate eagerly, almost ravenously. Then the dark eyes 
closed, the curly head sank lower and lower, until it 
rested on Victor’s shoulder, and, as if she knew that she 
had found a friend in the ambitious boy who was to make 
the whole race of the Heathburns aristocrats, the little 
waif smiled contentedly as she drifted into dreamland. 

“ Well, I vow ! you and the pappoose make a stunning 
picture, Victor. But, still, I can’t lie here all night and 
watch you,” Harley remarked, with a yawn. “ I’d like 
to know what’s the next thing on the programme.” 

“ I think it’s to send the little girl to the nursery,” 


28 


M A JELL A; OR, 


replied his brother, without noticing Harley’s rather 
doubtful compliment. 

Why, Victor, you don’t intend to let her sleep in 
the same room with Blache !” exclaimed Louise, who 
had reached the dignity of having a room of her own. 

“ Certainly not, my dear,” cried Mrs. Heathburn. It 
would be the most presumptuous, the most dangerous, the 
most unadvisable thing possible. If the child must remain 
in the house till morning, — and I suppose it storms so, 
— you really can’t send her away to-night, though I 
strongly object to her mere presence; let her sleep 
with Maggie in the basement. I cannot permit such 
a creature to occupy the same apartment as my own 
daughter.” 

Then Blanche can sleep with Louise, or whoever you 
choose, mother,” Victor answered, with a fire in his gray 
eyes which the family had long since learned to under- 
stand. Maggie is not used to children, and would not 
know what to do if she should cry or get frightened in 
the night. The poor little thing is cold and tired. She 
needs just the care Aunt Katie will give her, and she’s 
going to have it, too, if I have to stay in the nursery 
myself, and sit up all night in the bargain. Ring the 
bell, Harley.” 

Mrs. Heathburn uttered a sigh of despair and sank 
back among her pillows. The colonel seemed to be ab- 
sorbed in the Tribuyte, though, probably, he did not ob- 
serve that his paper was upside down. He seldom 
took any part in the slight family difficulties. He 
knew Victor would settle them in a way which it was 
just as easy not to question. 

Harley uttered a low, expressive whistle as he arose 
to obey his brother’s command. In a few minutes Aunt 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


29 


Katie made her appearance, and listened in open-mouthed 
wonder while Victor briefly related the startling events 
of the evening. 

Poor, tired baby !” the nurse murmured, in her gentle, 
motherly way, as she took the child from Victor’s arms 
and carried her up the broad stairway to the warm, 
bright nursery, followed by Blanche, who was highly 
elated with the course of events. She finally succeeded 
in awakening the child, who spoke several times in her 
sweet, strange tongue, greatly to Aunt Katie’s astonish- 
ment, who, never having heard anything except the 
English language, was inclined to believe, as Blanche 
did, that she spoke the language of heaven. She un- 
dressed her, however, with great care, tucked her up in 
a snowy covered crib, long since discarded by Blanche, 
and sat by her side until the little stranger nestled down 
among the pillows and was fast asleep ; unconscious alike 
of the wild storm that shook Laurellawn to its very 
foundations, and of the strange fate that had wafted her, 
like a frail, sweet flower, from a fairer clime to bless and 
brighten the home on the hills where the fourth genera- 
tion of the Heathburns played. 

When Aunt Katie entered the nursery the next morn- 
ing, the sun was shining brightly through the parted 
curtains, across the crimson carpet, and falling in a flood 
of yellow glory on the white-covered crib, where the 
little stray waif lay wide awake, her great dark eyes 
turned full towards the brilliant light. 

For a moment the old nurse stood watching her in 
wonder, while over her face stole a dark shadow of sus- 
picion, then, taking from her pocket a silk handkerchief 
of scarlet and gold, she glided noiselessly to the child’s 
side and flourished its brilliant colors before the eager 


30 


MAJELLA; OR, 


eyes that never moved or changed their expression ; 
though, at a slight rustle of Aunt Katie’s dress, the child 
put out her hands and grasped blindly in the direction 
whence the sound came. 

The next moment the old nurse had caught up the 
waif in her arms, and was hugging, kissing, and crying 
over her, as she exclaimed, in a voice choked with 
sobs, — 

“ Poor little girl ! Poor little motherless lamb ! You 
can’t see the flowers, or the sunshine, or the blue sky 
any more than my little Bessie could.” 

“ Hush ! my darling,” as the child began to weep for 
sympathy. “ Little Bessie is lying fast asleep under the 
English daisies. Aunt Katie will be good to you for 
her sake, and take care of you, if they will let me, for 
she loves you all the more because, like Bessie, you are 
blind.” 


CHAPTER IV. 
victor’s decision. 

“Why, Aunt Katie, what are you crying about?” ex- 
claimed Blanche, who had entered the nursery unob- 
served, and stood gazing in wonder at the scene. 
“ What makes you kiss my little sister and tell her you 
will take care of her? You needn’t, for I’m going to 
myself. I want her to come and see my dolls and play- 
house, right off. She can have Beatrice and Arabella, 
too, if she wants her, and they are my very bestest 
dolls.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


31 


‘‘Oh, my dearie,” sobbed the old nurse, “she can’t 
see your dolls or your playhouse, or anything, because 
she’s blind, — blind as a bat!” 

Blanche did not fully comprehend the homely illustra- 
tion, or understand the meaning of that dread word 
blhid. But she knew that Aunt Katie had made some 
sad discovery, and, like most children and a few grown- 
up people, she felt anxious to be the first who should tell 
the news. She sped down-stairs and into the dining- 
room, where the family was gathered at breakfast, and 
cried, as she threw open the door, — 

“ Oh, papa, Victor ! She is blind! Blind as a bat! 
Aunt Katie said so.” 

“ Who is blind ?” Colonel Heathburn asked, setting 
down his untasted chocolate, while his face grew, if pos- 
sible, a shade paler. He seemed strangely nervous that 
bright November morning, though, when Victor inquired 
if he were ill, he replied, impatiently, — 

“ No, it is nothing ; merely a headache, the result of 
wakefulness, no doubt. I never can sleep in a storm, 
you know.” He did not add that long after the wind 
had sobbed itself to rest, and the rain fell softly on the 
dying leaves, he had paced to and fro in the library, 
never thinking of the storm ; never feeling the room 
grow dark and chilly as the red coals in the grate slowly 
turned to ashes ; never heeding the little clock on the 
mantel, whose silver bell had long since chimed the 
hour of midnight. Before him was a vision, the vision 
of a little girl, with great dark eyes, that laughed and 
flashed and grew tender all in a moment, with a sweet, 
proud mouth and a tangle of glossy curls which fell over 
the white shoulders and down to the slender waist, 
where the coral ribbons floated lightly in the summer 


32 


MAJELLA; OR, 


breeze, as she leaned far over the railing of the old rustic 
bridge and called out to the boy who sat fishing on the 
mossy stones below, — 

“ Dick, mayn’t I come down with you ? I won’t 
scare the trout away.” 

And now the vision was gone, and in its place was 
another, the picture of a child in a travel-stained dress. 
The same dark eyes, the same sweet mouth, the same 
shining hair. Only over it all, saddening and softening 
the picture like a vale of silvery mist, was the shadow 
of a sorrow. 

Yes, there is a wonderful, a most wonderful resem- 
blance,” Colonel Heathburn murmured, as he paused 
before the fire and gazed earnestly into the dying embers. 
“ I believe I’m growing morbid,” he exclaimed, as he 
resumed his walk. “ I know this is but fancy. There 
can be no relation between these two faces. Madge 
Kingston is lying cold and still beneath the rose-bushes 
in the old French Garden. She had no children. Her 
father wrote me so distinctly, and yet I would almost 
swear that the mother of the child up in the nursery 
was the grown-up little girl I learned to love that sum- 
mer long ago.” 

‘‘You must be mistaken, Blanche,” answered Victor, 
rising from the table in great excitement. 

“ The child cannot be blind. Why, she has the most 
beautiful eyes I ever saw.” 

“ ’Deed, an’ she is. Master Victor. It’s true, every 
word of it ; true as gospel !” cried the old nurse, who had 
dressed the child hastily in one of Blanche’s discarded 
frocks and entered the breakfast-room with the little one 
in her arms. 

“ Put her down, auntie,” commanded Victor. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 33 

The nurse placed the child upon the floor, and, sinking 
into a chair, covered her face with her apron. 

Victor crossed the room and, kneeling before the little 
girl, gazed long and earnestly into the beautiful eyes, so 
dark in every sense of the word. 

“ Oh, this is horrible, perfectly horrible !” gasped Mrs. 
Heathburn. “ It was bad enough to have such a creature 
in the house, but to think of her being physically de- 
formed, blind, — I feel as if I were going to faint ! Harley, 
where is my cologne ?” 

“ I don’t know, mother, but here’s the catsup. I guess 
that will do just as well.” Catching up a bottle from the 
table, the reckless youth dashed a quantity of the fiery 
fluid in her face. It evidently had the desired effect, 
for she exclaimed in a voice far from faint, — 

“ Oh ! you careless boy ! You’ve killed me ! I know 
you have, and it’s all because of that dreadful child ! 
Richard, you must send her away — instantly !” 

“But where shall I send her, Clara?” asked her hus- 
band, who did not seem to comprehend his wife’s critical 
position. 

“ Send her !” — replied that lady, with a good deal of 
emphasis, — “ send her to the poor-house, of course ; that 
is the place for such children.” 

“ Oh, mistress, please don’t send her there !” cried 
Aunt Katie, emerging from behind her apron. “ Siie’s 
so little and weak and helpless ! They wouldn’t know 
how to take care of her, and she would die ; I know she 
would !” 

“So much the better,” returned Clara Heathburn, 
carelessly. Such creatures are only a disgrace and a 
burden to humanity.” 

“ But she’s not a common creature,” pleaded the 


34 


MAJELLA; OR, 


nurse. “She’s pretty and sweet. Oh, mistress, it just 
breaks my heart to think of her being kicked and cuffed 
about like a common pauper ! Give her to me ; I’ll take 
care of her for the sake of my Bessie, dead and buried 
over the sea. I’ve a little money of my own that I’ve 
been saving up for a rainy day, but I don’t mind spend- 
ing it on her. I’ll send her to some woman out in the 
country who will be kind to her. She need never come 
here or bother you, if only you won’t send her to that 
horrid place.” 

“ You needn’t worry. Aunt Katie,” Victor said, quietly. 
“ She will not be sent to the poor-house.” 

As if in those low, firm tones she recognized the voice 
of an old friend, the child took a step forward and 
slipped her arms around Victor’s neck. It may have 
been the thought of her helplessness, or it may have 
been that act of perfect trust; but, somehow, Victor 
Heathburn’s heart was touched as it had never been be- 
fore. Winding his arm about the little girl, he drew her 
still closer, as he said, — 

“ Perhaps Blanche is right, and God did send you to 
us. Anyhow, you are here, and nobody shall drive you 
away. It shall never be said that the Heathburns, who 
spend heaps of gold every year on fine clothes and fine 
horses and a fine home, turned this child from their 
door and sent her off to the county almshouse. I have 
money that Grandfather Marshall left me, and I’ve a right 
to use the interest as I please. Poor child,” he continued, 
as the pale face nestled against his shoulder ; “ you’ll 
never be cold, or hungry, or lonesome any more, for you 
are going to be Victor Heathburn’s little girl, and he will 
take care of you as long as he lives.” 

“ Hip, hip, hurrah ! Three cheers and a tiger ! The 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


35 


judge has pronounced sentence !” and in his excitement 
Harley lost his balance and fell to the floor, overturning 
a cup of chocolate on his mother’s pearl-colored morning 
gown in his descent. 

“ What is this family coming to ?” moaned the poor 
lady. “I have long. felt that my days were numbered. 
Now, I know my hours are, also. I have always known 
that Harley was perfectly heartless ; but I did not think 
that Victor would forsake me for a pauper. Even my 
husband, for whom I sacrificed all my hopes of life, 
will not lift his hand to help me in this last trying 
hour.” 

“ Really, Clara, I had no idea the situation was so 
tragical,” replied the colonel. “ Harley,” turning to 
the young reprobate, you should be more careful and 
considerate of your mother’s feelings. Victor, I quite 
approve of your first remark. The child certainly can- 
not go to the poor-house. But are you sure your reso- 
lution to keep her as a ward is a wise one ? If she 
remains here, she must not only be taught to speak 
English, but, at least, some of the most necessary of the 
common branches. In her case, this means almost un- 
limited time and patience. Are you sure you have the 
time to give and the patience to exercise ? Will you 
not tire of the task you are voluntarily assuming ?” ^ 

“ I have thought it all over, and have made my de- 
cision,” replied Victor. And every one knew that the 
matter was settled. 

“ Victor,” said Harley, after a pause, “ puppies, kittens, 
and babies all have to be named. I’d suggest we call 
this one Cleopatra, or Juliet, or, if you’d like something 
more patriotic and homelike, we might call her Harriet 
Beecher Stowe.” 


36 


M A JELL A; OR, 


“ Thanks for your suggestion. What would you like, 
mother?” 

“ I will have nothing to do with the affair,” Mrs. 
Heathburn answered, haughtily. That creature is not fit 
to associate with me or my children. Probably her 
father was an escaped criminal, while I haven’t a doubt 
her mother was a shameless adventuress.” 

Stop, Clara !” said Colonel Heathburn, in a sterner 
voice than his wife and children had heard him use be- 
fore. “ I want you to understand, and the servants also, 
that while this child remains in the house, not a whisper 
of suspicion, not a shadow of shame, shall rest upon 
her. Whatever her father was, whatever her past life 
may have been, mark my words, her mother was a 
lady.” 

Victor thought of many names, but he finally turned 
to Louise, and asked, — 

“ What is your favorite name ?” 

“ I think just as Ma does, — that she is ugly, and hor- 
rid, and I wouldn’t play with her any sooner than I would 
with the children at the poor-house,” declared the auburn- 
haired beauty. 

“Well, Blanche, I’m suvq you don’t think her either 
horrid or ugly. What would you like to call her ?” 

“ It seems to me, Victor, you ought to name her,” re- 
plied the child, thoughtfully. “ She’s your little girl, you 
know.” 

“ Her name is Majella,” answered Victor, with a 
promptness which showed that he had only asked the 
opinion of others out of courtesy. 

“ Ma — Maa — Maj What on earth did you say ?” 

gasped Harley. 

“ I said Majella,” Victor answered, distinctly. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


37 


“ Ma-jel 4 a ! Where, in the creation of cats, did you 
find that name ? But, I’ll remark, it’s out of a novel.” 

“ Yes, it is out of a novel,” Victor admitted. “ It’s an 
Indian word, and means Wood Dove.” 

“ Oh, it does ? Well, then, if I can’t remember the 
Indian, I’ll call her Pigeon. That will do just as well.” 

I’m afraid I can’t remember, either,” said Blanche, 
doubtfully. “ Mayn’t I call her Mella ? I think it is so 
pretty.” 

'‘Yes, Blanche, you may call her Mella, for I think it 
is pretty, too. Perhaps we shall all call her Mella, for 
short.” 

So Victor made his decisions, and every one submitted 
to them, whether they were agreeable or not ; probably, 
because they knew by experience it would not be easy 
to do otherwise. The colonel made every effort to find 
some trace of the child’s parentage; to learn by whom 
she had been brought to Laurellawn, but without suc- 
ce.ss. The agent a,t Woodland remembered the woman 
with the sad face who had purchased a ticket for Glen 
Oberon. The conductor on the 8.10 train recollected 
having taken a ticket from a woman answering to her 
description, who appeared to have a sleeping child in her 
arms, but did not see her alight at the station. The 
agent at Glen Oberon was positive no lady had purchased 
a ticket at his office that evening. But the conductor on 
the 9.37 train to Netherton declared that he had taken 
the fare from a lady in a dark cloak and veil, who ex- 
plained that she had not had time to get a ticket at the 
station. 

There the clue ended suddenly, as though the myste- 
rious stranger had disappeared with the storm which 
raged that night. 


38 


M A JELL A; OR, 


The child learned to speak English quickly, so rapidly, 
indeed, that Victor declared one or both of her parents 
must have been English; a supposition which his father 
did not seem inclined to deny. 

Weeks and months glided by. The nine-days’ won- 
der died away. The people of Glen Oberon ^most for- 
got that the pale slender child who clung to Victor’s 
hand, or sat quietly under the laurels while Blanche 
played beside her, was not a Heathburn. 


CHAPTER V. 

RETTA. 

Ten summers with their songs of birds and fragrance 
of flowers, eleven winters with their gleam of starlight 
and glitter of snow, had come and gone since the No- 
vember night when Victor Heathburn found his mission 
on the threshold of his home. 

Quick, uneventful years they had been to the house- 
hold at Laurellawn. A happy, peaceful time that, in the 
troubled days to come, they would think of tenderly, 
sadly, as we think of a friend who has long been dead. 

During this time not a ray of light had been shed on 
the mystery of Majella. 

They had almost ceased to speak or think of it now, 
so accustomed had they grown to the child who flitted 
like a fairy through the halls or along the piazzas, and 
never seemed contented unless by Victor’s side. 

Apparently, Colonel Heathburn took little interest in 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


39 


her, further than to speak to her kindly when he saw her 
in the nursery with Blanche, or met her out walking with 
Victor. Only Majella knew how, when he chanced to 
find her alone in the twilight, he would take her on his 
knee, gaze long and earnestly into the sweet face, then 
kiss her with a passionate tenderness that even Blanche 
had never known. 

“ What makes you look at me so ?” she asked him 
once, when she felt his eyes upon her. 

“To see your mother?” he replied, almost uncon- 
sciously. 

“ Where is my mother ?” Mella asked, and Colonel 
Heathburn answered, “ Your mother is in heaven, if there 
be a heaven. But I don’t believe there is. I don’t even 
believe there is a God ! If there were, he wouldn’t let 
our lives be ruined and blighted as they are !” 

“ Oh, I know there is a God !” the child cried, eagerly. 

“ How do you know ?” inquired the master of Laurel- 
lawn. 

“ Because he answers when I ask him anything, just 
as you and Victor do. The other day, when I got lost 
in the woods, I thought of all the dreadful stories 
Harley told me about bears and catamounts till I felt 
just like crying. Then I knelt down on a big mossy 
stone and said, ‘ Dear God, I’m cold and frightened, 
and can’t find my way home, ’cause I’m blind. Please 
send somebody to help me quick.' Just then Victor 
came looking for me, and I’m sure God sent him, ’cause 
I asked him.” 

Colonel Heathburn smiled, but he was too generous 
to further display his doubts in the simple faith of his 
little girl. 

Majella was not old enough to wonder why he never 


40 


MAJELLA; OR, 


admitted the possibility that her mother might still be 
living. She did not know that, to the cold, proud man, 
the sound of her voice and merry, childish laughter were 
like the echoes of a long-unheard, though well-remem- 
bered, song. 

Mrs. Heathburn had ceased to object to the child’s 
presence in the house, partly because she saw it was 
useless, and partly because she had learned to listen for 
the echo of the little uncertain feet on the stair that 
were ever ready to do her bidding, and to long for the 
touch of the small white hand that cooled her burning 
brow and soothed away the pain as no other hand had 
ever done. 

Victor had never regretted the responsibility he had 
assumed. At first, he had merely intended to teach the 
child to speak English, and perhaps the rudiments of 
some of the most necessary English branches. But he 
soon discovered that his pupil would be satisfied with no 
such mere sips from the well of wisdom. She not only 
displayed a passionate thirst for knowledge, but soon de- 
veloped a power to retain what she learned that was even 
more gratifying to the young, ambitious teacher. Victor 
chose for a school-room a small apartment in the south- 
east corner of the house, opening into the music-room, 
which in turn communicated with the sitting-room. 
This study was so small and cosey that Majella christened 
it the Snuggery, a name which clung to it through all 
the after-years. 

Here, every morning, Victor occupied the large arm- 
chair by the table, while Majella sat on an ottoman at his 
feet, her hands folded in her lap and her eager, flushed 
face raised questioningly to his, while he read the les- 
sons aloud to her. She repeated them after him until 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


41 


she had thoroughly grasped their main points and com- 
mitted them to memory. So interested did Victor be- 
come in the progress of his pupil that he prevailed upon 
his father to employ the tutor under whose directions 
Harley and himself prepared for college. 

Mrs. Heathburn approved of this plan. It seemed 
more aristocratic than attending an academy, where, as 
she expressed it, “ one might be forced to associate with 
the children of a washer-woman or a common farmer.” 

At length, however, the time came for Victor to enter 
college. Then this question arose, “ What is to become 
of Majella’s education ?” After a long discussion, one 
morning, as to the relative merits of governesses and 
tutors, Louise, who had never liked the child, remarked, 
as she closed the fashion magazine she had been ex- 
amining, — 

“ Well, Victor, if you are determined to educate her, 
why don’t you send her to a regular school for the blind ? 
There she would learn to read as other blind people do, 
and if, as you think, she has some talent for music, they 
might be able to develop it ; so when she grows up she 
can teach and not be dependent on the charity of 
strangers.” 

Victor flushed a little indignantly as he saw the trou- 
bled expression which always stole into the dark eyes of 
his pupil when her dependent position was referred to ; 
but he asked, quietly, — 

” Would you like to go to some institution of the 
kind, Mella ?” 

“ No ; oh, no !” cried the child, gliding across the 
room and clasping her hands on Victor’s shoulder. 
“ Please don’t send me there. I think it would break 
my heart to be among so many people who are all in 

4 


42 


‘ MAJELLA; OR, 


the dark like me. Besides,” with a sudden change of 
tone and expression, '' I don’t want to learn to read like 
blind people do. It wouldn’t be of any use to me, for 
when I grow up I shall not be blind. I shall see just 
as well as Victor or anybody. I ask God every night 
to let me, and I know he won’t forget.” 

Colonel Heathburn smiled sadly, but Victor looked 
grave. They all understood Majella’s whim, as they 
called it. Blanche had told them how, every evening, 
when she knelt by her snowy bed to say the simple prayer 
Aunt Katie had taught, she added this petition : “ And, 
dear God, some day, please let me see just as well as any 
body, for Jesus’ sake ! Amen.” 

It was a morbid fancy, the colonel said, and he ad- 
vised Victor to explain to his ward how vain was such a 
hope. But Victor answered firmly, — 

“ No, father, it would be cruel to destroy such perfect 
trust. Besides, Majella maybe right. I haven’t much of 
a creed myself, and I know you haven’t either, but, as 
truly as yonder sun is shining, I believe, if there be a 
God, he will hear and answer Mella’s prayer. 

Never mind, little girl,” Victor said, in his gentle, 
soothing way, drawing the excited child to a seat on the 
sofa beside him, “ you shall never be sent anywhere to 
break your heart, if I can help it.” 

** Well, I don’t find anything here that answers our 
requirements,” Colonel Heathburn remarked, as he laid 
down the morning paper, in which he had been reading 
advertisements. ” I guess I’ll have to take the case in 
hand myself I never was a very brilliant student, and 
I don’t suppose the years have brightened me up much. 
Still, I might be able to tide Majella along for a time at 
least. What do you say, Victor?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


43 


“ Why, father, would you really be willing to take so 
much time and trouble for my little ward ?” exclaimed 
Victor, in surprise. 

“ Yes, if you think me capable, my son.” 

” Nothing would please me better,” Victor answered, 
earnestly. A few days later, when the brothers departed 
for college. Colonel Heathburn took up his position in 
the Snuggery. 

Majella felt that the sun had set with the last echo of 
the carriage wheels, when Victor left for the station, 
and would only riseaga in when he came home for va- 
cation. 

The great incentive to progress was gone. For a 
time the new teacher feared his task might prove a 
hard one. At last, however, a brilliant idea occurred to 
him. 

Mella,” he said, one morning, when she seemed more 
interested in old Rover, who lay by her side, than in the 
highest peak of the Andes Mountains or the depths of 
the Pacific Ocean, '' when Victor comes home for vaca- 
tion, I shall have him give you a thorough examination 
in all your studies. I think he will be as much interested 
in your progress as in his own. So, if I were you, I 
would see how much I could accomplish before Christ- 
mas.” 

The suggestion was sufficient. After that Colonel 
Heathburn’s only anxiety was lest his pupil should lose 
health and strength in her passionate desire to learn. 
To please Victor meant happiness. To displease him, 
misery to the girl, who had given all the wealth of her 
untaught childish affection to the boy who had been kind 
to her. 

Victor finished his course at college and graduated 


44 


M A JELL A; OR, 


with high honors, as his mother intended h^ should. 
When he had reached the last grand climax, and deliv- 
ered the last finely-rounded sentence in his brilliant 
oration, among the sea of eager faces that smiled up at 
him, he saw only one, the face of a young girl, who 
gazed at him with shining eyes, which no stranger 
would ever guess could not see. When the storm of 
applause, the flutter of snowy handkerchiefs, and the rain 
of fair blossoms was over; when the hand of gay class- 
mates had given place to the crowd of elderly admiring 
papas, stately designing mammas, and pretty simpering 
daughters, and they, in turn, were gone ; in their place 
stood a slender, white-robed girl, who clasped his hand 
in both her own as she whispered, — 

“ Oh, Victor, I am so glad and proud and happy to- 
day.” 

It was then, and only then, that Victor Heathburn’s 
face glowed with the sunlight of unalloyed pleasure. 

That night, at the grand reception, many a gay city 
belle, in her rustling silks and glowing diamonds, watched 
Majella with envy. In her cream cashmere and water- 
lilies she sat like a queen among the palms, while the 
handsome young heir of Laurellawn bent to catch her 
slightest remark as though, as Louise afterwards ex- 
pressed it to her mother, “ she had been a born princess 
instead of a nameless dependent.” 

Two years had elapsed since that June evening when 
Mella wore the water-lilies and strolled with her young 
guardian through New England’s classic halls of learn- 
ing. For the past eighteen months Victor had been in 
Europe pursuing his studies at Heidelberg. His school 
education was now completed. A year of travel and 
sight-seeing, and the star of the Heathburns would be 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


45 


ready to rise in all its first effulgence, draw about it a 
constellation of bright though lesser planets, and dazzle 
two continents with its overwhelming splendor. It was 
not of Victor’s brilliant career Majella was thinking, as 
she lay in the hammock one bright June morning, half 
hidden among the wisteria vines and bitter-sweet. She 
was dreaming of the time when her boy-teacher would 
come back to her, and they should resume the old happy 
life she had loved in other days, before Victor went to 
college. 

To the blind girl, the wealthy American gentleman 
whom brown-haired English maidens thought charming, 
dark-eyed French beauties declared elegant, and blue- 
eyed German girls pronounced very scholarly, was only 
the brave, strong boy who, years ago, had found her out 
in the darkness, and brought her into the warmth and 
sunlight of a home. 

“A penny for your thoughts. Midget,” exclaimed a 
merry voice, and a tall, rather awkward young man, whom 
the reader could hardly fail to recognize as the grown-up 
black sheep of the family, came up the steps, two at a 
time, and began to swing the hammock vigorously. 

“ I don’t believe they are worth buying, Harley,” the 
young girl answered, slipping her white fingers through 
the hammock-cords to prevent herself from falling. 

Well, I don’t know as they are, seeing I know them 
already. You’re thinking of Victor, of course. I wonder 
if there ever was a fellow who had so much thinking 
done on his account ?” 

There never was a fellow so well worth thinking of 
as Victor,” Majella replied, with a quick flash of enthu- 
siasm. 

There it goes again, — Victor, Victor, Victor, till my 


46 MAJELLA; OR, 

life is almost Victored out of me ; but I say, Midget, I’ve 
news for you.” 

“ A letter from him !” she cried, letting go the ham- 
mock and holding out her hand eagerly. 

“ By Jove ! Mella, I do believe, if Gabriel should blow 
the last trumpet, you’d run out and ask him if he hadn’t 
turned mail-carrier and brought you a letter from Victor ! 
No, I haven’t got a letter from him or anybody else ; but 
I’ve seen the prettiest girl in America ; rescued her from 
untold danger, and accompanied her home, and found 
out all about our new neighbors at the ‘ Lilacs.’ ” 

Is it possible you can be interested in anything ex- 
cept the latest scheme for facilitating interocean com- 
munication ?” 

But to begin at the beginning. I saw her on the 
Netherton turnpike, not more than a mile out of town. 
Her name is Retta Grey. Pretty, isn’t it ? From what 
did I rescue her ? Well, that takes some rhetoric; but I 
guess I’m equal to the emergency. As I was strolling 
along the public highway, meditating on human de- 
pravity and kindred topics, I suddenly heard the beat of 
hoofs behind me. Turning, I beheld a coal-black steed 
with foam-flecked breast and gleaming eyes rushing down 
the road at lightning speed, while a young girl clung 
to his neck, her long dark hair floating in the summer 
breeze, and the horse’s mane and tail also on the float. 

“ On came the steed like a well-developed cyclone, 
striking fire at every leap, though on account of the dust 
and sunshine you couldn’t see it ; and on came his rider 
like an Indian princess. Just as they came up opposite 
a clump of elder bushes, out sprang a gallant young 
hero, by name Harley Heathburn, and caught the fiery 
creature by the bits. The maddened animal reared in 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


47 


air, kicked and plunged, and tore about; but the young 
hero held him with a tight grip. After a mortal struggle, 
he finally succeeded in conquering the incorrigible beast, 
and rescuing his fair rider from several miles’ gallop along 
a smooth country road ” 

“ Oh, Harley, do try to be sensible !” 

“ Sensible ! Is that all the credit you give me for such 
a burst of eloquence ? Why, Majella, a novelist couldn’t 
have said this better. Only, of course, if I’d been writing 
it, I should have stopped where the horse began to 
plunge, and let the old fellow kick till the next issue of 
the paper.” 

But how did you happen to go home with Miss — 
Miss Grey?” 

“ Oh, that was easy enough. You see her horse got 
frightened at one of Mrs. Burton’s pug puppies. And 
how was I going to know but he’d get set off again if 
he saw a kitten or a baby. So, I just wagged along and 
sort of soothed them both, you know. When we got to 
the ‘ Lilacs’ (which they have rented for the season), she 
insisted on my going in to see her grandmother, and, 
somehow, I couldn’t refuse. 

“ Pretty soon a nice old lady, in black silk, came trot- 
ting into the parlor, and almost smothered me with her 
thanks. Next came a lank artist fellow, who looked as 
though he might better be picking out his coffin than 
painting cows and cabbage-heads, and flung his appre- 
ciation at me. He was followed by his wife, a plump 
little English woman, who tossed gratitude into the 
family basket also. 

“ Finally, she rounded up the heap by sending in for 
her little girls, Ruth and whatever that other Bible 
woman’s name was. They hugged me like two young 


48 


MAJELLA; OR, 


cubs, and said they’d love me * forever and ever, because 
I’d been good to Aunt Retta.’ ’’ 

“ But where was Retta’s mother?” Majella asked, with 
growing interest. 

“ That’s what puzzles me. She don’t seem to have 
any. She calls the old lady grandma, and the young 
woman, Lucy. Besides, her name is Grey, and they, the 
Brooklynes, don’t look any more like her than deer-mice 
look like a deer. But you’ll have a chance to solve the 
problem yourself. Midget, for I’ve promised to take you 
to call on them to-morrow.” 

“Me! Why, how do they know anything about 
me ?” 

“ Oh, that’s where Victor comes in. Of course, he’d 
have to have a finger in the pie. Last fall the Brooklynes 
spent a month at Heidelberg, and Retta met some of the 
university students, and among them the illustrious 
representative of this family. His Mightiness conde- 
scended to play the agreeable to the pretty brunette, and 
so far came out of his shell as to inform her that she 
reminded him of a little adopted sister at home. Retta 
was delighted with such a compliment from such a 
source, and asked him all about her counterpart in 
America. He told your story, and she’s in perfect nettles 
to see you.” 

“ But does she really look like me ?” 

“ Well, about as much as a full-blown apple looks like 
an apple-blos'som. Yes, that’s a fine illustration. You 
look, for all the world, like an apple-blossom, Mella, 
while she is as plump and rosy as one of father’s king 
apples. 

“ I tell you what it is. Midget, Retta Grey is a brick, 
and you’ll think so too.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


49 


Majella was not quite so sure of her opinion, but, like 
a wise little judge, she postponed sentence .until further 
evidence should be obtained. 


CHAPTER VI. 

AT THE ‘^LILACS.” 

When Harley drove up the next afternoon with his 
high-stepping bays, Majella stood on the piazza, ready 
for the proposed drive to the “ Lilacs.” She looked very 
pretty in her soft gray dress and hat, with a half-opened 
rose at her throat. Victor was particular about her 
appearance, — always insisting that she should be dressed 
as well as his own sisters. The little French maid, who 
had waited on her since she had outgrown nursery care, 
was a perfect connoisseur in ladies’ toilet, and, as a con- 
sequence, Majella never appeared in anything unbe- 
coming. 

“By Jove! Midget, you look perfectly stunning to- 
day,” Harley remarked, as he gathered up the lines. “ If 
that artist fellow gets a glimpse of you, he’ll think one 
of the famous masterpieces has stepped down from its 
musty old gallery in Rome and come to pay him a 
visit.” 

“ I hope you don’t mean to suggest that I’m old and 
musty, Harley, even if I am your adopted sister.” 

“ I mean to suggest that you are a good deal too 
pretty for anybody’s sister,” the young man replied, with 
a touch of earnestness in his tone which his companion 
did not appear to notice, as she exclaimed, — 


50 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ What a delicious day this is ! The air is heavy with 
the fragrance of flowers ; and I know the sunshine must 
be bright, it is so soft and warm.” 

Majella was right. The day was one of those rare 
combinations of earth and air, light and shadow, flower 
and foliage, that nature sends only once or twice, among 
the three hundred and sixty-five samples, to show how 
beautiful the old world can be, despite the time and toil 
and the sin that have stained and warped it so. Even 
the ponies seemed to feel the inspiring influence of their 
surroundings as they trotted down the avenue, over the 
bridge, — beneath which Alder Marsh Creek sang its cease- 
less summer lullaby, — and through the gates, which old 
John Greythorn swung back at their approach. Then 
away they dashed through the busy town, where many a 
stern, labor-worn face grew soft as its owner caught a 
glimpse of the little blind girl, whose unselfish love for 
others and gentle womanly ways won the hearts of old 
and young. 

Leaving the village, with its gleaming church-spires 
and gayly-painted shops, they sped away among the 
broad green meadows, where the long grass waved in 
the wind, and the golden-headed daisies, with their frills 
of feathery white plumes, nodded lazily to each other as 
if growing sleepy under the long sermon the honey bees 
were preaching in the white and crimson clover. 

Harley drew rein at the cold spring. The eager ponies 
buried their noses in the clear water and drank long, 
deep draughts from its sparkling depths. Then the road 
wound gradually up the hill-sides. The sheep were nip- 
ping the short grass, while the little lambs frolicked 
about them. The gentle-eyed Jersey cows, in their pale 
golden coats, lay under the gnarled old apple-trees, 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


51 


dreaming, it may be, of their ancestral home over the 
sea. Passing through a little grove, where the robins 
sang high up amid the hickory branches or flitted cau- 
tiously in and out among the thorn -trees, gathering the 
stray strings and feathers that clung to their needled 
boughs, the road turned a sharp angle. They came sud- 
denly upon a small brown cottage almost hidden by the 
lilacs, from which it derived its name. 

Harley tied his horses to the unpainted board fence, — 
the “ Lilacs” did not own a hitching-post, — and, lifting 
Majella to the ground, led her up the narrow path, 
above which the ever-present lilacs leaned and whispered 
all day long. 

A neat servant-girl showed them into the little par- 
lor] where lilacs seemed to hold undisputed sway. 
Branches looked in at the open windows. Green leaves 
formed the pattern of the creamy paper on the wall. 
Pink clusters were strewn over the rich, dark ground 
of the carpet. A vase, filled with snowy blossoms from 
a late bush in the garden, occupied a prominent place 
on the centre-table, while, as if to make the general effect 
still more impressive, in one corner stood an easel on 
which was a life-size picture of a young girl gathering 
lilacs in the early May morning. 

A rustle of silk, a breath of some delicate perfume, 
and an old lady, with soft white hair and gentle blue 
eyes, glided into the room as gracefully as a girl. She 
greeted Harley cordially, and spake to Majella in a voice 
whose very tones betrayed the deep sympathy she felt 
for the young girl whose life seemed so sadly shadowed. 

“ Is Miss Grey at home ?” Harley asked, after several 
restless glances about the room. 

“ Ah, yes. Retta was here a moment ago. I think 


52 


MAJELLA; OR, 


she is in the garden. I will call her ; or, perhaps, you 
would rather go there, too ?” 

“Yes, we should prefer it,” Harley said, eagerly; and 
the three went out into the little old-fashioned garden, 
where, after searching vainly for Retta, the young people 
sat down on a rustic bench beneath an apple-tree, while 
their hostess said, — 

“ Retta is very fond of birds and flowers and sunshine. 
I will call Ruthie and send her in pursuit.” 

Harley was about to volunteer his services instead, 
when there was a slight noise overhead, and a paper- 
bound edition of the “Arabian Nights” fluttered through 
the apple-tree branches and fell at his feet. Glancing up 
quickly, he saw a flushed girlish face, half-hidden among 
the leaves, and a pair of big black eyes, in which merri- 
ment, perplexity, and dismay were oddly mingled. 

“Ah, Miss Grey, you are discovered!” he cried. 
“ Even the magic lamp and ring cannot hide you now.” 

“Oh, Retta! how could you?” the old lady asked, 
reproachfully. “ And only yesterday you promised me 
not to climb trees any more.” 

“But I just couldn’t help it, grandma; it seemed so 
cool and nice up here, and ” 

“ Well, well, never mind. I suppose children must be 
children, though it does seem as if they ought to begin 
to grow up by the time they are seventeen. Come down, 
now, my dear, and meet Mr. Heathburn’s sister.” 

“ How can I, when you all stand there looking at 
me ?” the girl answered, with a feckless little laugh. 
“Take Mr. Heathburn and his sister into the garden, 
grandma, and I’ll be with you quicker than you can say 
‘ Jack Robinson.’ ” 

“If only she wouldn’t use slang!” the much-tried lady 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


53 


murmured, as she led her guests to the southern side 
of the house, where a perfect wilderness of roses was 
blooming. 

Retta did join them in a remarkably short time, ex- 
claiming, as she took Majella’s hand in hers, — 

“ I felt sure from the first I should like you, and now I 
just love you !” and she kissed the blind girl impulsively. 

“ Do you know, Mr. Heathburn/’ she continued, turn- 
ing to Harley with one of her sunny smiles, “your little 
sister reminds me of the first spring flowers that used to 
grow in our old English home. I like people who look 
like flowers. Don’t you ?’’ 

“ Yes,” Harley answered ; “ and I know some one, 
whose name I might mention if she were not present, 
who reminds one greatly of one of those splendid crim- 
son damask roses yonder.’’ 

“ Oh, grandma, what a compliment for you ! for, of 
course,” with a little shrug of her shoulders, “ he must 
mean you. No one ever compared me to anything that 
grew in the garden, unless it be a sunflower.” 

Laughing and chatting, they returned to the parlor, 
where the artist’s rosy-cheeked wife awaited them with 
a dainty bunch of strawberries, sponge cake, and rich, 
cool milk from the spring-house. 

“ Grandma,” said Retta, as she crumbled up her cake 
for her favorite white kitten, “ I think you ought to tell 
Majella my story. It seems only fair since I have heard 
hers, and thus she would understand why I want her to 
call me Retta, just as I call her Majella. They’re really 
the only names that belong to us.” 

“ But, my dear, perhaps our friends do not like history.” 

Harley and Majella both declared it was their favorite 
study ; and, thus encouraged, Mrs. Grey began her story. 


54 


MAJELLA; OR, 


I was born and brought up in Devonshire, England. 
My first husband, Thomas Brooklyne, kept a large gro- 
cery establishment in London. We had one child, Edwin, 
a bright, handsome boy, whom we designed to follow in 
his father’s footsteps, and take the business when he was 
no longer able to manage it. But Edwin had no taste 
for weighing sugar and measuring molasses. From his 
cradle he developed a passion for drawing that seemed 
to rule his very life. 

“ My husband had no patience with * authors, artists, 
and such vagabonds,’ as he called them. He tried to 
curb his boy’s ambition, but he might as well have 
tried to keep the tide from rising and the wind from 
blowing. 

“At last the crisis came, and turned out just as I 
had foreseen all along that it would. Edwin left home, 
and for ten long years I had not even a word from my 
wandering boy. It almost broke my heart and his 
father’s, too. 

“ Soon after he went away my husband received a 
severe injury in a railroad accident, from the effects of 
which he died a few months later. 

“ As I had no ties to bind me to England, I decided to 
visit my sister, who had married a French physician and 
resided in Paris. While there I met Mr. Grey, an 
American gentleman^ whom I afterwards married. But 
neither sunny France nor her far-famed physicians could 
long arrest the dread disease, consumption, and in less 
than a year after my second marriage I was again a 
widow, and, if possible, more lonely than before. 

“ One evening, as I sat by my open window, wishing 
I had something to love, if only a dog or a kitten, I 
heard, a clear, sweet voice singing in the street below. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


55 


Leaning out, I saw a young woman, apparently not more 
than nineteen or twenty years of age, singing a pathetic 
French ballad, while a little girl, with a thin face and big, 
hungry eyes, stood by her side. I at once felt interested 
in the child, and when the song was over sent my maid 
to bring her to me. She soon returned, carrying the 
little one, and followed by the young mother, who told 
such a pitiful story that all my sympathies were enlisted. 
I decided to keep the child as my own. At first she 
refused to part with her; but when I persisted, and 
pointed out all the advantages of wealth, education, and 
position I could give her, and compared them with the 
life she must lead as the child of a street-singer, the 
woman yielded. That night, as I rocked little Mar- 
guerite to sleep on my bosom, I thanked God for send- 
ing her to brighten my lonely life. 

“ That was sixteen years ago. My little Marguerite 
has grown into a tall young lady, — though she still per- 
sists in climbing trees, riding unbroken horses, and get- 
ting into all sorts of mischief.” 

“ Now, grandma, you are not telling the story 
right,” Retta cried, putting down the kitten with de- 
cision. 

“ You’ll leave Mr, Heathburn and Majella to believe 
that my mother was the beautiful daughter of an earl, 
who eloped with her father’s coachman; but she was 
not. She was simply Christine de Vere, a peasant girl, 
who lived in a little village on the banks of the Rhone. 
She could sing like a bird, and one day, when a company 
of actors chanced to pass through the town and heard 
her singing in the old gray church by the river, they 
recognized her remarkable talent, and offered to take her 
with them to Paris. 


56 


MAJELLA; OR, 


‘‘ Christine was very young, and the thought of visit- 
ing beautiful Paris, of which she had heard so much, 
and seeing the great world, of which she knew so little, 
was too great a temptation. She left the cross old aunt 
with whom she had lived, and went away with the 
strangers. 

“ The tenor singer in the troupe was a handsome young 
Spaniard, and Christine could hardly help falling in love 
with him. He pretended to return her affection, and 
they went through a form of marriage which she believed 
to be as binding as all the priests and bishops in the 
world could make it. 

“For a time my mother was very happy, but one 
evening, when I was about a year old, as she was pre- 
paring to take her part in a popular play, — ‘ The Siege of 
Troy,’ — there was a knock at the door. Before she 
could answer it, a beautiful lady entered, carrying a 
baby in her arms. ‘Who are you?’ the visitor asked, 
haughtily ; and Christine replied, ‘ I am the wife of the 
tenor singer,’ giving my father’s name. Then the 
stranger turned upon her, as if she meant to annihilate 
her, and exclaimed, ‘ It is. false! You are not his wife. 
You are only an ignorant peasant. You have no right 
here, and that child — pointing to me — has no right to 
its name ; no right even to live. I am his wife and this 
is his child.’ 

“Just then the Spanish tenor entered the room, and 
when my mother demanded the truth, he confessed that 
nine years before he had married the beautiful stranger. 
That when her health failed and she was no longer able to 
go on the stage, he took her to a quiet place in the south of 
France, where he only visited her occasionally. In the 
meantime he had fallen in love with and pretended to 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 57 

marry the pretty peasant girl. I don’t know what hap- 
pened next, but that night there was no Helen to play 
her part in the ^ Siege of Troy.’ My mother had gone 
out to face the world alone. 

After that she earned a scanty living for herself and 
me by singing on the streets, until that summer evening 
when Grandma Grey took me for her little girl, and has 
petted and loved me, and spoiled me, till I am no good 
at all and Retta gave the old lady a hug that ruffled 
her dainty collar sadly. 

“ But what of your mother ?” Harley asked, with much 
interest. “ And what was your father’s name ?” 

“ I cannot answer either of those questions,” the girl 
replied. “ From that day to this we have neither seen 
nor heard anything of my mother. Grandma thinks 
she is dead, but I know that some day I shall find her 
again.” 

And what of the real wife ?” Majella asked, eagerly. 

I feel very sorry for the beautiful lady and the little 
child.” 

“ Sorry for her !” Retta exclaimed, her dark eyes 
fairly blazing with anger. “ Sorry for the woman who 
wrecked my mother’s life, who drove her out into the 
cold, cruel world, who said that I hadn’t even a right to 
live ?” 

Yes,” Majella answered, firmly. ” I am sorry for her. 
Think how she must have felt when she found her hus- 
band had deceived and deserted her, and how the child 
must feel, if it is still living, to remember how cruel and 
wicked its father was. I think they deserve as much 
sympathy as you and your mother.” 

“ Well, you may think what you please,” Retta an- 
swered, her dark face flushing with excitement; “but 

5 


58 


MAJELLA; OR, 


if ever I meet that woman or her child, they will discover 
that there is at least one person who has no sympathy 
for them.” 

“ But what of your son, Mrs. Grey ? when did he re- 
turn ?” Harley inquired, hastening to change the subject; 
for he saw an ominous glow in Majella’s sightless eyes 
which, he knew by experience, opposition might kindle 
into lightning. 

” Ah, yes !” the old lady said, smiling serenely; “ my 
boy did come back to me at last. I took Retta to Eng- 
land, for I wanted to remove her as far as possible from 
her former surroundings. We rented a pretty cottage, 
and lived a quiet, secluded life. One evening, as I sat 
alone by the fire, there was a knock at the door, and 
when I opened it, there stood my boy, worn and wasted 
almost to a skeleton, but my boy still. 

“ He said he had come home to die ; but I would not 
listen to such wild words, and God was very good to 
me, for he spared my darling’s life. Edwin married 
Lucy Harcourt, whom he had loved as a child, and who 
had been true to him through all those long years of 
waiting. But he has never fully recovered his health, 
and last summer he seemed so feeble that the physicians 
advised a year or two of travel. We left England, going 
first to Germany, then to Italy, and finally coming to 
America, where I hope the pure air may be of some 
permanent benefit.” 

That night, as they rode home in the twilight, Majella 
agreed with Harley when he exclaimed, — 

“ Retta Grey is the most charming girl I ever saw.” 
Then, after a pause, added, except you. Midget.” 

“Oh, no! You needn’t tell that fib on my account,” 
the blind girl answered, gayly. “ I’m not a bit jealous of 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 59 

Retta. I wouldn’t blame anybody for falling in love 
with her.” 

“ Wouldn’t you ?” her companion asked, with sudden 
earnestness. 

“Just suppose, when Victor comes home next summer, 
he should take it into his already overstocked head to 
admire and finally fall in love with our pretty neighbor 
at the ‘Lilacs !’ What then ?” 

For a minute the fair face beside him seemed troubled ; 
then, with her sweet laugh, she answered, — 

“ Victor will never fall in love with Retta Grey, no 
matter how much he may admire her.” And Harley 
knew that she was right. 


CHAPTER VII. 

NOT OF THE COMMON HERD. 

Louise Heathburn, at twenty-two, was the perfect 
realization of the beautiful woman whom her childhood 
had promised. 

A tall, slender figure, straight and graceful as the 
young willows that grew by the brook ; a small head 
poised proudly on the sloping shoulders ; a broad, low 
brow, smooth and white as sculptured marble ; large 
gray eyes, whose only fault was that they reflected too 
clearly the selfish nature that lay beneath ; a straight, 
proud nose ; ruby lips, whose every curve was perfection, 
and yet seemed made for sneers rather than smiles; a 
firm chin that suggested, whatever Louise might lack, 
she possessed her share of the Heathburns’ determina- 


6o 


MAJELLA; OR, 


tion. Long wavy hair, auburn in the light, brown in the 
shade, red gold in the sunshine ; and a complexion as 
delicately shaded as the pink and white rose-buds she 
held in her hand, one late August morning, as she stood 
before the mirror in her elegantly-furnished apartment. 

“Yes, they are becoming,” she murmured, as she laid 
the dainty blossoms in the folds of creamy lace that filled 
in the corsage of her white dress. “ And yet they are 
only roses from our lodge-keeper’s garden, the gift of our 
lodge-keeper’s son. How presumptuous in Jack Grey- 
thorn to send them to me ! He seems to think, because I 
allowed him to carry my books from school and draw 
me home on his sled when I was a little girl, before 
mamma got a governess, that, now I am a young lady, I 
am bound to recognize him as my most ardent admirer. 
The idea of the beautiful and accomplished daughter of 
Colonel Heathburn wasting even a thought on the son 
of her father’s lodge-keeper, — a common laborer ! Why, 
he is as awkward as a bear, as homely as a hedge- 
fence, and as poor as a church mouse. No, I shall not 
wear his roses,” and she tossed the innocent flowers 
carelessly on the dressing-case. “ It’s high time he 
learned that there is a wide social gulf between the 
daughter of Laurellawn and the son of its lodge-keeper. 
I shall wear Mr. Allingford’s flowers,” and, crossing to a 
little table in the corner, she took from a vase a large 
bouquet of showy red blossoms. 

“ How ugly they are!” she exclaimed, as she fastened 
them in her belt ; “ and yet every stem and leaf reminds 
me of the giver. Their size and number stand for the 
length of his bank account and the depth of his pocket- 
book. Their color and prominence denote his social 
position, affected mannerism, and their yellow hearts 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


6l 


suggest his half million of gold, which, after all, is the 
centre of the universe, towards which, sooner or later, 
everything else must gravitate. 

“Yes, he is old and gray and silly; but he has the 
cash, and that decides it. Good-by to you and your 
roses. Jack Greythorn ! Louise Heathburn is not the 
girl to bury her talents in a country parsonage.” With 
a laugh that had no merriment in it, the beauty of Lau- 
rellawn went down the softly-carpeted stairs to the 
breakfast-room, where the other members of the family 
were already assembled. 

“ Hello, duchess ! Where did you get those red 
weeds ? And what have you done with Jack Greythorn’s 
roses ?” Harley inquired, as his sister took her seat at 
the table. 

“ If you mean the flowers I am wearing, Mr. Ailing- 
ford sent them to me. They are the latest fad in Phila- 
delphia. As to Jack Greythorn’s roses, they are up- 
stairs on my dressing-case. You are perfectly welcome 
to them if they are of any use to you.” 

“ Now, Lou, that’s really too bad !” Harley exclaimed, 
with an odd mixture of mischief and indignation in his 
voice. “ Here you have been flirting with Jack Grey- 
thorn ever since you were a baby in long clothes. Let- 
ting him hunt arbutus for you in the spring, and open 
chestnut-burrs in the fall, teach you to skate in the winter, 
and row you on the lake in the summer; and now, just 
because that grizzly old millionaire has trotted in upon 
the scene; you throw Jack overboard as carelessly as you 
do his flowers, and wear these flaming red weeds be- 
cause they are in style. If that is fashionable society, 
good Lord, deliver me from its power !” 

“ I prefer to take my sermons on Sunday at church, 


62 


MAJELLA; OK, 


if you please,” Louise said, haughtily, as she tore open 
a letter which lay beside her plate. 

^‘You’ve not thoroughly mastered the society cate- 
chism yet, Harley,” his father bitterly remarked, “ It 
was discovered several years ago, by the leading dealers 
in the matrimonial market, that hearts did not sell nearly 
so well as gold, and since then they have not been kept 
in stock.” 

“ I don’t believe I care to be fashionable, papa,” Blanche 
said, thoughtfully. 

” God grant you never .may be, my child, ” he an- 
swered, with fervor. 

Well, if you are through discussing my sins,” Louise 
said, as she folded her letter, “ I should like to inform 
3^ou that Mr. Allingford has invited us to a dinner party 
at the Lakeside House this evening, and a moonlight sail 
in his new boat, ‘The Duchess,’ afterwards.” 

“How charming!” cried Mrs. Heathburn, whose 
health seemed much improved, though she declared it 
was but the hectic glow of autumn foretelling that death 
was at hand. “ Who else is invited, my dear ?” 

“ He says ‘ friends from the city and acquaintances 
from the boarding-house.’ He does not mention any 
names except his nephew, Jasper Allingford, who is stay- 
ing with him, you know.” '* 

“ Yes, and a young man of very fine appearance I Do 
you remember how attentive he was to Blanche at the 
seminary commencement last spring, and she scarcely 
more than a school-girl yet ? Louise, you had better 
drive down to Miss Dixons and see if your dress is fin- 
ished. That particular shade of blue will look beautiful 
by moonlight. And, Blanche, I suppose you will wear 
white, as usual ?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 63 

Mtist I really go, mamma ?” the young girl asked, 
anxiously, dismay and disappointment plainly visible in 
her face. 

'' Mi^st you go?” her mother repeated, in surprise. 
” Why, what possible objections can you have to going ?” 

” Oh, nothing, only you see Retta Grey was coming 
down this evening, and Harley was going to take her and 
Mella and me to see the Indian Medicine Company that 
is camping in town.” 

” Blanche Heathburn ! I am astonished at your de- 
graded taste. That Indian show is not fit for ladies to 
attend. People in our social position should not even 
recognize such a troop of vagabonds, tramps, and, for 
aught I know, thieves. I am shocked at your lack of 
refinement, which I am convinced is the result of asso- 
ciating with that wild, hoidenish creature, Retta Grey.” 

” Would you really rather go and see the Kannawas, 
little girl ?” Colonel Heathburn asked. 

Yes, papa, I really would. I never saw an Indian in 
my life. It would all be so new and strange. Besides, 
I don’t like going to dinner parties. They always make 
me have the headache.” 

“ Well, then, you needn’t go,” her father answered, 
promptly. ” You are under no obligations to accept 
Mr. Allingford’s invitation, if you do not wish to do so. 
I’m not afraid of the Kannawa Indians, or Retta Grey, 
either, hurting my white lily, or making her anything but 
the fairest, sweetest flower in all the garden. So, go where 
you please, and be as happy as you can. And you, Har- 
ley, I suppose you will enter heartily into the New York 
banker’s hospitality ?” 

“ I would as soon enter a rattlesnake’s den, and sooner, 
too ; for I could shoot the rattlers, and I can only snub 


64 


M A JELL A; OR, 


old Allingford and his starchy young nephew ; and they 
don’t seem to know enough to appreciate even that. No, 
sir ! I shall go to see the Kannawas, flirt with pretty 
Retta Grey to my heart’s content, and tell Jack Grey- 
thorn, if I see him, that he’s a fool, — though I’d bet the 
best dog that ever barked against Mrs. Burton’s one-eyed 
pup that the day will come when I shall address my 
stately sister as Mrs. John Greythorn^ Jr.” 

“ Jack, Jack Greythorn ! What be you doin’? You 
told me, half an hour ago, that if I’d look over the country 
paper a bit, you’d feed them little chickens, and here you 
be a-mopin’ on the door-step, the chickens yellin’ ready 
to split their throats, and the pan of feed a-standin’ on the 
table.” 

“ Well, mother. I’ll feed them right away. The fact is, I 
had forgotten all about them.” And catching up a basin 
of shelled peas, which also stood on the table, the young 
man scattered its contents broadcast to the hungry fowls. 

“ For the l.and’s sake, boy, are you stark, starrin’ mad ? 
There, you’ve went and wasted all them peas that I nearly 
bilt my brains all out a-pickin’. What on earth be you 
thinkin’ of? Rackin’ your head over one of them ques- 
tions in g’ometry, or whatever you call it, I s’pose.” 

“ No, mother, I was not even thinking of geometry.” 

“ Well, then, you was thinking of Louise Heathburn, 
and that’s worse. Do you know what I think of you. 
Jack Greythorn ?” 

“ No, mother, I do not.” 

“ Well, I think you’re a born fool, if I do say it, and 
me your mother. The idea of your wastin’ your time 
and ruinin’ your health a-tryin’ to please that girl, who 
does not think any more of you than she does of her 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


65 

worn-out shoes ! She ain’t worth it, either, that’s the 
worst of it. She’s a selfish, stuck-up creature, who thinks 
she’s made of better mud than the rest of human bein’s, 
because her father has got a little money. But the good 
book says, ‘ Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty 
.spirit before a fall.’ It would just do my old bones good 
to see her fall, heavy, too.” 

“ I am afraid that is not a very Christian spirit, mo- 
ther.” 

“Well, I guess it’s just about as Christian as ’tis to 
go mopin’ aroun’ for the moon, when it’s nothin’ but 
green cheese, if you had it. Louise Heathburn ain’t 
worth mopin’ for. She ain’t worth the room the tails 
of her gowns take up. Now, there’s Nellie Adams ” 

“ Never mind Nellie, mother. There is no use in dis- 
cussing her or Miss Heathburn. We can never agree 
on these subjects, you know;” and, taking his hat, Jack 
Greythorn went out into the yellow August sunshine, 
while his plain-spoken mother took down her brown 
gingham sun-bonnet from its peg. behind the door and 
hastened away to silence the noisy chicks. 

A spectator might have wondered if she, too, was not 
racking her brain over some difficult problem, for, long 
after the contents of the pan were exhausted, and the 
mother hen and her young brood had done ample jus- 
tice to their late breakfast, Lydia Greythorn stood among 
the chicks and pigweed in her back yard, while the tea- 
kettle boiled over with a splash on her freshly-polished 
stove. 

“ I am afraid mother is right, and that Louise cares no 
more for me than she does for the dust under her feet,” 
Jack murmured, as he stalked aimlessly along the brook 
until he stood on the shore of Fairy Lake, a pretty little 


66 


M A JELL A; OR, 


sheet of water, which Colonel Heathburn had transformed 
from a mill-pond into a beautiful lakelet, bordered with 
rhododendrons and dotted with water-lilies. 

Jack sat down on a big black rock and watched the 
waves as they danced over the blue depths, glided up 
the sands, and broke on the stony shore. To his morbid 
fancy they seemed to represent his own hopes rising on 
the tide of youth, gliding up the sands of the future, 
only to break on the rough stones of despair. 

“ If I were only an artist, now, I should make my for- 
tune. You form quite a striking figure on the landscape,” 
said a low, mocking voice at his side ; and, turning, he 
saw Louise Heathburn in her broad-brimmed hat and 
white dress, with the crimson flowers at her belt. 

“ Did you receive my roses ?” he asked, almost un- 
consciously, giving expression to his thoughts. 

“ Certainly. They were rather pretty, — for so late in 
the season.” 

“Rather pretty?” And he had risen half an hour 
earlier each morning, for a month, to cultivate a partic- 
ular bush, because it was her favorite. 

“ Then, why are you not wearing them ?” he asked, 
quickly, for the girl’s indifference wounded him. “ I 
thought you were fond of roses.” 

“ So I am, when they are in style; but just now they 
are considered entirely too commonplace. Besides, I 
was in duty bound to wear these flowers. Mr. Ailing- 
ford sent them, and that makes a difference, you know.” 

“No, I do not know!” Jack answered, indignantly. 
“ Why should you choose that man’s flowers in prefer- 
ence to mine ? What do you care for him, a silly, dwarf- 
ish widower, old enough to be your grandfather, and 
whose intellect, if he ever had any, has long since been 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 6/ 

destroyed by wine and opium. And yet, since he came 
to board at Silver Lake, you have appeared to think or 
care for nothing else. It is a burning shame, and I will 
not endure it any longer.” 

“ Pray, how will you help it?” the girl asked, haughtily; 
and Jack did not notice that the color was fading from 
her face. “ I will settle it now and forever !” he cried, 
springing to his feet and stepping directly in front of 
her. “ Louise, do you know why I cut wood, and shov- 
elled snow, and drove cows, to pay my bills at the 
academy ? Why I lived in a little dark room in Cam- 
bridge, without any fire, and often without any supper ? 
Why I sat up half of the long, cold nights, adding up 
bills and balancing accounts, to meet my expenses at 
college ? Why Lve toiled and struggled all my life, 
battling with fate, fighting with poverty, and breaking 
the chains of circumstances which bound me in igno- 
rance and obscurity ?” 

” I suppose it was to collect a number of thrilling inci- 
dents with which to amuse the people you meet,” replied 
the girl, with indifference too marked to be natural. 

“ No, it was not,” he answered, coming nearer and 
speaking lower ; “ it was to please you ; to win your 
respect ; to deserve your praise, Louise. Ever since the 
day when you entered the little brown school-house, 
with the sunshine on your hair and the light in your 
large gray eyes, you have been my ideal of all that is 
grand and good and beautiful in life. I resolved then 
to be a gentleman, a scholar, to win a place among the 
worlds workers, to make for myself a name of which 
you even need not be ashamed. I only want your help 
and encouragement, and life cannot fail to be a success. 
I am not rich nor handsome, but I am strong and willing^ 


68 


MAJELLA; OR, 


I have a good education, and I know that God will help 
me in his service, to which I believe I am called. 

“ Oh, Lola, Lola !” sinking on his knees and catching 
her little gloved hand in his, “ have you no love for me, 
no pity ? Give me one ray of hope. Tell me that there’s 
a chance. I can be patient ; I can wait, and I can work 
as only a man can work for the woman he loves, if I know 
that at the last I can claim you, my beautiful darling, as 
my jdol, my queen, my wife.” 

“ Really, Jack, you should go upon the stage. You 
could do Romeo to perfection.” 

The young man recoiled as though she had struck 
him a blow. As a flash of lightning may sometimes 
reveal a landscape at midnight, these cruel words re- 
vealed the girl’s nature. 

“ Louise, are you perfectly heartless ?” he asked, look- 
ing at her in wonder. 

“ I’m inclined to think I am,” she answered, with a 
laugh ; “ but, fortunately for myself, I am not entirely 
senseless. Jack Greythorn,” turning upon him with 
flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, “ do you think that 
the daughter of Colonel Heathburn will marry the 
son of his lodge-keeper ? Do you suppose that I 
will step down from my social position to your 
level ? Do you presume to ask me, the beautiful, 
accomplished heiress of Laurellawn, to give up my high 
hopes of life to become the wife of a poor Methodist 
minister, whose father cannot read plain English, and 
whose mother does not use good grammar ? Do you 
imagine that I will resign my chance to achieve social 
favor and social position for what fools and novelists call 
sentiment , — love f If you do, let me inform you you are 
mistaken. I do not belong to the common herd. I have 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


69 

no lot nor part with them. I do not choose my asso- 
ciates from the mob, and I would as soon drown myself 
in the water at my feet as to marry you, with your awk- 
ward manners, your humble parentage, and your hopeless 
poverty! There! Do you understand me now?” 

“Yes, I understand you,” he said, in a voice so calm 
and even that the girl shuddered. “ I understand that 
you will sell your youth for a banker’s wealth, barter 
your beauty for diamonds, burn out your heart to light 
your gilded cage, give your life for what the world calls 
favor, and lose your soul, if need be, to win a prize that 
shall profit you nothing ; for the day will come, whether 
it be in this world or in the next, when you will remem- 
ber the cruel words you have spoken, — when, from the 
seeds of pride and ambition you are scattering now, you 
will reap your full reward. Then, when you look to 
heaven for pity, when you ask the God of justice for 
mercy, when you turn the burning pages of your Bible, 
seeking some crumb of comfort, you shall only find these 
words, * Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also 
reap.’ ” 

Without another glance he turned and left her stand- 
ing as still as the great black rock by her side. 

That evening Louise wore the particular shade of blue 
that looked so beautiful by moonlight, and shone as the 
fairest, queenliest creature among the New York banker’s 
guests. 

Later, she leaned against the crimson cushions of the 
shadowy stern of the “ Duchess” and listened to the 
low-spoken words of its owner. Later still, having dis- 
missed her maid, she stood before the mirror in her own 
room, while the moon-beams glowed and glitterdd on a 
diamond that shone on the engagement finger of her 


70 


M A JELL A; OR, 


slender white hand. As she combed out her long bright 
hair she saw a little bunch of withered roses lying on the 
white-marble top of her dressing-case. She took them 
in her hand, and they seemed to fill the room with their 
death-like fragrance. Opening a drawer by her side, she 
laid them with a photograph, a few crumpled notes, and 
a knot of faded arbutus that told the story of Jack Grey- 
thorn’s hopeless love. 

“ Thus it ends,” she murmured, as she closed and 
locked the drawer, my first and last romance. The 
bargain is made. I have sold myself for a banker’s gold, 
for a summer residence on the Hudson. I have sown 
the seeds of pride and ambition, and — of deceit ; and 
‘ Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’ 
Will these words never cease to echo through my brain ? 
Can I never, never forget them ?” 

And through the mellow, mystic moonlight impish 
voices seemed to echo, Never, nevermore !” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE KANNAWA MEDICINE COMPANY. 

While the colonel, Mrs. Heathburn, and Louise were 
playing an important part at Mr. Allingford’s dinner 
party, the other members of the family were enjoying 
themselves quite as well, though in a very different 
way. 

Early in the evening Harley, Blanche, and Majella 
drove to the “ Lilacs.” A pleasant half-hour was spent 
in admiring the artist’s latest picture, listening to Ruth’s 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


71 


description of the Indians’ camp, which Edwin Brooklyne 
had taken his children to visit that afternoon, and laugh- 
ing at baby Naomi’s illustrations of how the Indian 
mothers carried their little ones. 

Then they drove back to town accompanied by Retta, 
who was in high spirits at the prospect of seeing 
anything like a theatrical performance, for all of Mrs. 
Grey’s well-meant lessons could not counteract a pas- 
sion for the stage, which was as much the girl’s inheri- 
tance as her impulsive nature or her dark* Spanish 
beauty. 

The night was one of those charming mixtures of late 
summer and early autumn when, while we sigh at the 
departure of the former, we almost long for the arrival 
of the latter. The full moon shone through a sea of sil- 
very haze ; the wind blew softly from the southward and 
sighed among the leaves with a half-whispered promise 
of rain; the air was heavy with the honeyed sweetness 
of buckwheat blossoms and the scent of harvest-fields. 

All their surroundings seemed wonderfully calm and 
still, yet Retta Grey’s heart thrilled with a strange ex- 
citement, Perhaps she felt, in some vague way, that 
that night was to end her happy, careless girlhood ; that 
to-morrow she would waken with one wild, all-absorbing 
ambition, which for long years to come would urge her 
ever up the slippery hill of fame, until, having reached 
the summit, she would turn as many another has done 
before, and long for the green pastures and still waters 
she had left unheeded in the valley below. 

Glen Oberon was all astir with people. Never before, 
in the history of the town, had six live Indians, two 
squaws, and four pappooses walked along its streets, 
offered their bead-work and baskets for sale, or adver- 


72 M A JELL A; OR, 

tised their famous medicines for the healing of man- 
kind. 

Already the large vacant lot opposite the post-office, 
and occupied as a camping-ground, was thronged with 
people. On the outskirts of this lot were a number of 
curious little tents, apparently with neither entrances nor 
exits. Next came a semicircle of rough seats for the 
accommodation of the audience, in the centre of which 
stood a large platform with a gayly-striped awning, 
where the performance of the evening was to take 
place. 

The platform was flanked with two large canvas tents. 
One was occupied as an office by Dr. Harmon, the 
manager of the company, who, as Ruth Brooklyne ex- 
pressed it, “was just as white as anybody.” The other 
tent was used as a baggage-room. The whole place was 
rendered almost as light as day by flaming gasoline 
torches swung from the roof of the platform. The scene 
was indeed a novel one. Even Majella seemed to feel 
its inspiring influence, for her cheeks flushed with excite- 
ment, and her eyes sparkled as she listened to Blanche’s 
careful description of their surroundings, smiled at Retta’s 
light sarcasms, or laughed at Harley’s endless nonsense. 
Only once she seemed to doubt the propriety of her 
being there, and that was when the young man remarked, 
thoughtlessly, — 

“ I wonder what Victor would say if he were here ?” 

“ I’m afraid he wouldn’t approve of it at all,” she 
answered. 

“ Oh, no !” laughed Harley; “ his Highness would be 
awfully shocked at your being in such a promiscuous 
gathering. You’d better run right home, Midget.” But 
just then the Indians made their appearance, arranging 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 73 

more seats for the unexpectedly large crowd, and every- 
thing else was forgotten. 

Meantime, Messrs. Shortleigh and Garr, the two white 
agents who assisted Dr. Harmon in selling the medicines, 
passed hastily through the crowd distributing highly- 
colored advertisements, together with appreciative glances 
at Glen Oberon’s pretty girls. 

Then Dr. Harmon appeared with his high hat and 
spotless linen, and paced to and fro upon the platform 
as though he were the “ monarch of all he surveyed,” 
and felt very well satisfied with his kingdom. 

Soon after the entertainment of the evening com- 
menced with a sailor song, rendered by Mr. Garr, who, 
if his voice was not quite perfect, certainly looked dra- 
matic in his snowy sailor suit, and knew just how to 
smile at the audience. 

Dr. Harmon followed with a few well-worded remarks, 
in which he told the discovery of his famous Indian 
medicine, explained their herbal composition, and pro- 
claimed their unparalleled success. He further said that 
this was but one of a large number of companies, each 
one containing a few representatives of the original Kan- 
nawa tribe, that were now travelling throughout the United 
States and Canada, England, and the West Indies, adver- 
tising and selling this Indian medicine, under the direc- 
tion of Messrs. Hangdon and Baxter, the manufacturers. 

Mr. Shortleigh next appeared upon the stage. He 
was a tall, slender young man, with a thin white face 
and microscopic moustache, and looked, as Harley ex- 
pressed it, “as if he’d gone through the dissecting- 
room and afterwards been put up on wires.” He sang 
a sentimental little ditty, and appeared surprised because 
the audience did not encore him. 

6 


74 


MAJELLA; OR, 


The next thing on the programme was a war-dance by 
the Indians; but their deliberate movements and inex- 
pressive faces gave little suggestion of the tomahawk 
and scalping-knife. 

The manager then announced that Mrs. Harmon would 
favor the audience with a solo, entitled, “ When the 
pansies all are withered.” There was a little flutter of 
expectation, as a tall, graceful woman came forward, and 
sang the pathetic ballad in a voice that might have done 
credit to a first-class opera. 

As the last notes died away, and Mrs. Harmon glided 
from the platform, Retta turned to her companions and 
exclaimed, almost breathlessly, — 

“ Oh, Td rather do that than be the Queen of Eng- 
land !” 

Messrs. Garr and Shortleigh played an amusing farce, 
in the characters of Irish music teacher and negro pupil, 
after which Dr. Harmon stated that he wished to say 
a few words before the Glen Oberon band played the 
closing piece. The doctor announced that the Kan- 
nawa Medicine Company would remain in Glen Oberon 
for the next two weeks, giving free entertainments each 
evening, except Wednesdays and Saturdays, when an 
admission fee of ten cents would be charged ; that the 
programme would be lengthened and in every respect 
improved. 

He also said in closing, — 

“There is an explanation which I feel, injustice to 
myself and company, should be made. We have had 
among us a young Gypsy girl, a fine singer and actress, 
who appeared as the principal character in a drama 
entitled, ‘The Gypsy Queen.’ A few days ago she left 
the company, and I have not yet been able to supply her 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


75 


place. Consequently, we shall be obliged to omit this most 
popular part of our programme, unless, indeed, some 
young lady in this place should volunteer to take the part, 
which, however, I must say is a rather difficult one, re- 
quiring real musical talent.” 

Retta was unusually quiet on her way home that night. 
Even Harley’s raillery could not rouse her to anything 
like her accustomed gayety ; but when she stood in her 
own little room, on whose white-matted floor the moon- 
beams fell in patches through the lilac leaves, she clasped 
her small brown hands, and exclaimed, — 

“ Yes, ril do it ! Grandma will object, Blanche will 
be shocked, Majella sorry. But I never shall be satis- 
fied until I am an actress, — until I am acknowledged as 
Retta Grey. No, that sounds too common, — ‘ Retta de 
Vere, the beautiful young actress.’ That is what the 
world must say, and I’ll never rest until it says it !” 

The next morning there was a light knock at the tent- 
post of Dr. Harmon’s canvas-roofed office, and in an- 
swer to his brief “ Come in,” Retta Grey entered. Just 
what she said, or what the manager of the Kannawa 
Company said, Retta could never remember. But when, 
a half hour later, she walked slowly homeward, she car- 
ried in her hand a well-worn pamphlet containing the 
play of “ The Gypsy Queen.” 

. For several days after that the squirrels listened in vain 
for the light step and silvery voice of the girl whom they 
had almost ceased to fear, as she gathered the ferns by 
the large gray rocks, or sat beneath the hickory-trees 
eating blackberries and sheep sorrel. 

Retta was very busy. No one knew just why, until 
on Saturday evening Dr. Harmon said that the audience 
would now have the pleasure of witnessing one of the 


76 


MAJELLA; OR, 


finest plays ever presented on the American stage, namely, 
“The Gypsy Queen,” with one of their own citizens in 
the character of Wanda. 

The next moment Retta Grey appeared before the 
foot-lights. Some of the villagers had heard her his- 
tory. Others had suspected that she possessed dramatic 
talent, but none had dreamed that she could play as she 
did that first autumn night. They held their breath in 
wonder as she sang her wild gypsy melodies. They 
cried as though at a funeral, when she knelt at the sup- 
posed grave of her murdered lover and wailed out her 
passionate sorrow. 

They grew almost mad with excitement, when, in the 
last thrilling scene, the villain held his gleaming knife 
above her heart. There was a flash, a report, and he fell 
apparently dead at her feet, as her lover stepped forth 
from his grave, or rather from behind the curtain, and 
caught the fainting girl in his arms ; while the band 
played softly in the distance, and the moon, just rising 
behind the eastern hill-tops, threw its silver light over 
the shining robes and raven hair of the peerless Gypsy ' 
queen. 

When it was over and the amateur actress stood among 
them, the people crowded around her with their eager 
words of praise, little dreaming that their thoughtless 
flattery would fan a spark of passion into a flame that 
would sear and scorch Retta Grey’s girlhood, and turn 
this fairest flower into ashes. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


77 


CHAPTER IX. 

Harley’s news. 

“ I MOVE this family tender me a rising vote of thanks 
as a slight token of their gratitude for my services. I’ve 
walked to Glen Oberon and back, and got four pieces of 
news, any one of which is sufficient material for an even- 
gossip.” And Harley stretched his lengthy form 
upon a couch, as though completely exhausted by the 
number and weight of his tidings. 

“Oh! what are they Harley? Do tell us at once I” 
cried Blanche and Majella, while Colonel Heathburn 
looked up inquiringly, and his wife closed the medical 
treatise she had been consulting for the last half hour. 
Louise alone seemed perfectly indifferent. She did not . 
even raise her eyes from the sofa-pillow which she was 
embroidering so elaborately. 

Since she had promised to become the wife of the New 
York banker she had appeared to take little interest in 
her surroundings. Though the marriage was not to take 
place until the following summer, for Colonel Heathburn, 
like most fathers, dreaded the time when the first link in 
the family circle should be broken, and, as he insisted 
upon it, Mr. Allingford reluctantly consented to wait a 
twelvemonth for his bride ; yet Louise felt that there was 
a wide social distinction between the future mistress of a 
Fifth Avenue mansion and the work-a-day people of Glen 
Oberon. 


MAJELLA; OR, 


78 


She was very resolute in her decisions, and since that 
moonlit August night had never once swerved from 
the path she had chosen ; never opened that drawer in 
her dressing-case where the boyish face lay hidden 
among the withered flowers. 

** Do tell us your news, Harley,” urged Blanche. 
“ I’ve just been wishing something would happen.” 

“ Well, something has happened with a vengeance. 
Retta Grey has run away with the Kannawa Indians !” 

“ What ! Where ? When ?” cried the astonished 
group, while Mrs. Heathburn remarked, — 

“ Just what I expected ! I always said that girl was a 
loud, vulgar creature. There is no use trying to raise 
low-born children and make ladies of them.” 

Majella flushed crimson, but only turned to Harley 
and asked, — 

“ When did Retta go ?” 

” Yesterday morning. The Kannawas left here two 
days ago. Yesterday Retta took the train for Netherton, 
to do some trading, as her friends supposed, but really 
to join the redskins at South Bend, their new camping 
place. She left a note for Mrs. Grey, telling her where 
she had gone, and begging her not to follow.” 

“ But of course she will,” said Majella. 

“ No,” replied Harley. “ She says she * always ex- 
pected Retta would go on the stage sooner or later, and 
she may as well try the experiment now as ever.’ ” 

Oh, I’m so sorry !” cried Blanche, the tears shining 
in her eyes. Retta has wonderful talent, and I wouldn’t 
blame her for joining a regular troupe. But that com- 
pany is so — sort of uncivilized. Dr. Harmon seems 
gentlemanly and polite, and his wife appears to be a 
perfect lady ; but I didn’t like those agents at all, espe- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. Jg 

cially Mr. Shortleigh. Did you notice how much he 
seemed to admire Retta ?” 

‘‘ Any man would be a fool who did not admire Retta 
Grey,” said Harley. “ Why, she’s the handsomest girl 
in America, Midget excepted.” 

Really that’s a sweeping compliment, my son, espe- 
cially when the acknowledged beauty of the season is 
present,” with a glance at Louise ; “ but tell us the news,” 
said his father. 

“ Item number two. Jack Greythorn is going to be a 
missionary. 

“ Number three. He is going to preach his first and, at 
the same time, his farewell sermon in the Methodist church 
to-morrow evening, and start early the next morning for 
the East. There, Louise, you see what you’ve done by 
your heartlessness, — driven poor old Jack from his child- 
hood’s land.” 

Louise said nothing, but an observer might have 
wondered what kind of stitches she was trying to make 
on the purple violets above which she bent her fair face 
so closely. 

Really that’s too bad !” exclaimed Colonel Heath- 
burn. “ Jack Greythorn is a bright young fellow, — too 
bright to throw his life away !” 

“ Do you think it throwing one’s life away to work for 
God ?” Majella asked, suddenly. 

“ What do you think?” inquired the colonel. 

“ I think that to preach the glad tidings of great joy is 
the grandest, most glorious work on earth !” 

“ Oh, well ! It’s all very fine to preach the gospel in a 
civilized land, to a civilized people, with a parsonage free 
of rent, a nice little church in which to air your oratory, 
and all your bedquilts and Thanksgiving turkeys pro- 


8o 


M A JELL A; OR, 


vided, with no bills to follow. But it’s quite a different 
thing to be a missionary to go to the heathen. Why, 
Jack Greythorn won’t live half-a-dozen years in that 
climate. Then, what will he get to pay for his great 
sacrifice ?” 

“ He will get his reward,” Majella answered, firmly. 
“ God will not forget those who labor for him. In the 
next world, if not in this, they will gather the harvest 
they have planted here. For ‘ whatsoever a man soweth> 
that shall he also reap.’ ” 

Louise started, and observed, — 

” How cold the evenings are growing,” as she rose and 
crossed the room to the hearth, where a bright wood- 
fire was glowing. She knelt upon the big white rug and 
held her jewelled hands to the blaze. But, somehow, it 
did not warm them. 

All the world seemed very cold to the young girl who 
had bartered her youth and beauty for gold. “ Ah, well, 
there is an old saying that ‘ what can’t be cured must be 
endured !’ ” laughed Colonel Heathburn. “ If Jack Grey- 
thorn wants to be eaten up by cannibals, I suppose it is 
as good a way to get out of the world as any ; and prob- 
ably he’d make all the better angel the less flesh he had 
to float. What’s your other piece of news ?” 

“A letter from Victor,” replied the young man, watch- 
ing Majella, whose face had grown very grave at Colonel 
Heathburn’s sarcasm, but who now extended her hand, 
exclaiming, — 

“ Oh, Harley ! and you’ve kept it all this time without 
telling us ! Please give it to me at once.” 

“ Just wait a minute. Midget. For the first time in six 
months his Highness has condescended to write to some 
other member of the family than your ladyship. The 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


8l 


envelope is addressed to father,” tossing it upon the 
table. ■ 

Colonel Heathburn tore it open and, after a hasty 
glance, read it aloud. It ran as follows : 

“ Erncliffe, Scotland, September 3, 18 — . 

Dear Parents, Brother, Sisters, Majella, — You 
will, no doubt, be surprised to see that this letter is 
dated in Scotland, while you suppose that I am still in 
Switzerland, where, probably, I should have been but for 
an unexpected meeting with my old friend and university 
chum. Sir Clarence Erncliffe. He was on his way home 
and insisted on my accompanying him, promising me 
good sport at his father’s place in the highlands. 

So here I am among the heather bells. Erncliffe is 
a grand old place. The earl is a typical English gentle- 
man, and the countess a perfect lady. There is plenty 
of shooting, together with fishing and boating, which I 
enjoy quite as much. The house is full of guests, among 
them two in whom I think you will be interested. 

“The first is Judge James Kingston, who, you will 
remember, owns that dilapidated old place on the hill 
between Silver and Echo Lakes. He has been wander- 
ing over the world for the last twenty-five years, much 
of the time in the far East, and is really a very interest- 
ing man. He tells me he knew my father as a boy, and 
spent many pleasant days at Laurellawn while my grand- 
father was yet living. 

“ I think, in some respects, his life must have proved 
a great disappointment, for there is an air of perpetual 
sadness about him. Some say it is the result of grief for 
his young wife, who died a year after their marriage ; 
others whisper that it was caused by the loss of an only 


82 


MAJELLA; OR, 


daughter, about whom there is a mystery. The judge 
never mentions her name, or in any way refers to the past. 

“Though not usually interested in gossip, I should 
like to know the truth of this report. Perhaps you can 
enlighten me, father, as you have known the judge so 
long.” 

Colonel Heathburn paused and, remarking that the 
light was poor, moved a little nearer to the table. 

“The other guest to whom I referred is the judge’s 
niece. Miss Gertrude Kingston. She is considered a 
very beautiful young lady, and is really pretty, though 
not quite my style. She was the belle of the last London 
season, and is very popular here. Sir Clarence is quite 
devoted to her. I think she might be Lady Erncliffe if 
she chose, but she does not appear to choose. 

“ I write all this because I remember that, though 
Louise and Gertrude have never met, they have cor- 
responded since childhood. However, they will soon 
have an opportunity to become better acquainted, for 
Judge Kingston tells me that he expects to return to 
America early next summer, remodel his cottage at 
Interlaken, and take up his residence there. He says 
he is tired of wandering over the world, and is coming 
home to die. 

“ Of course Miss Gertrude will accompany him, for 
she is his ward and sole heiress, which would account 
for half of London falling in love with her, even if she 
were not so clever and pretty. 

“ I am sure you will like the judge, and hope you will 
be kind to his niece, and make her feel as much at home 
as possible. She has spent much of her life in a French 
convent, and knows comparatively nothing of her native 
land.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


83 

With a few more references to the guests, a descrip- 
tion of Erncliffe, and explanations of his plans for the 
winter, Victor closed his letter with kind regards to each 
member of the family. 

Really, it seems quite providential !” exclaimed Mrs. 
Heathburn, “ that Victor and Gertrude should meet at 
Erncliffe. He is pleased with her, too, — that is evident 
from the way he writes. Victor is so critical, I actually 
dreaded the meeting. Now, when the Kingstons arrive 
at Interlaken there will be no ice to be broken. Of course 
we shall receive them as old friends and equals ; and, as 
poor Gertrude has no mother or sisters of her own, it 
will be but simple kindness to make her feel like one of 
us, and Well, we shall see what we shall see.” 

“ So we shall, mother mine,” interrupted Harley. 
“ But let me give you a bit of advice. I’m younger than 
you, and know how dangerous it is to count your 
chickens before they are hatched. Don’t buy the dress 
you intend to wear to Victor’s wedding before next 
spring ; it may be out of style.” 


CHAPTER X. 

BEFORE THE BENEDICTION. 

Soft and clear, through the deep calm of the Sabbath 
evening, came the music of a church-bell, floating from 
the valley below, across the meadows, and up the hill 
until it echoed among the maples at Laurellawn. Only 
one bell to-night, for the pastors of the Baptist and Pres- 
byterian churches had given up their services as a token 


84 


M A JELL A; OR, 


of respect to the young missionary whom they might 
never see or hear again. 

All Glen Oberon seemed to be wending its way to the 
little white church, whose Gothic windows glittered and 
shone in the crimson glow of the sunsef. 

They wanted to hear Jack Grey thorn, earnest, warm- 
hearted Jack, their neighbor and friend. 

‘'Why, Lou, aren’t you ready? The first bell rang 
nearly twenty minutes ago,” Blanche exclaimed, as she 
stepped out upon the piazza in her soft white dress and 
fluttering ribbons. 

“ I’m not going,” replied Louise, leaning over the rail- 
ing and wondering if the heliotrope had ever smelled 
so deathly sweet before. 

“Not going!” echoed her sister, her blue eyes wide 
with wonder. “ Not going to hear Jack Greythorn’s fare- 
well sermon ? Surely you can’t mean it ?” 

“ Indeed I do. I never like to hear young ministers 
preach ; they are always so embarrassed.” 

“But this is so different,” said Blanche, eagerly. “Jack 
Greythorn was our playmate in childhood. Oh, Lou ! 
It seems to me you, of all others, should pay this last 
token of respect to the man who loves you better than 
any one else in the world ever will. Only think of it. 
It \s you who are driving him away from his old parents, 
from his childhood’s home, to that far-off land, — perhaps 
to find a grave.” 

“ Pray, don’t waste any more words over me, my dear. 
I don’t appreciate them. The others are waiting, and 
you had better hasten, or you may lose some of the 
eloquent utterances of the Rev. Mr. Greythorn and the 
girl bent lower over the heliotrope as Blanche went slowly 
down the steps and joined the family in the carriage. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


85 


Even Mrs. Heathburn was there, for she wanted to hear 
what their lodge-keeper’s son could say. Darker and 
darker the shadows grew, deeper and deeper the twi- 
light fell. The bell had ceased to toll ; its last echo had 
rolled away up the valley. Far across the hill-tops one 
star gleamed out in the eastern sky. 

“ Just beyond yon sandy bar, 

When the day grows fainter and dimmer, 

Lonely and lovely, a single star 

Lights the air with its dusky glimmer.” 

Jack Greythorn had said once that these were “ the 
sweetest words that Longfellow ever wrote and Louise 
repeated them now as she drew the light shawl closer 
about her graceful form. 

It is so oppressive here,” she murmured, as she glided 
down the steps and out into the purple eventide. “ I’ll 
just walk down to the brook. Perhaps the sound of the 
water rippling over the stones will be a relief.” But she 
did not pause there, or at the little gate by the lodge. 
On and on she went through the gathering darkness, 
urged by some invisible yet, it seemed to her, resistless 
power ; along the village streets, quite deserted now, 
through the gates, up the broad stone steps and into the 
vestibule, where some mischievous boys had extinguished 
the light, leaving it dim and shadowy. Here she paused 
and listened. The choir was singing that grand old 
hymn, — 

“Just as I am, without one plea. 

But that Thy blood was shed for me. 

And that Thou bidd’st me come to Thee, 

O Lamb of God, I come !” 

The folding-doors were pushed slightly ajar, and 


86 


MAJELLA; OR, 


through the crevice could be seen the audience-room, 
every nook and corner of which was packed with people, 
— the broad centre aisle also lined with chairs ; the chan- 
delier swinging from the Gothic roof; the little table, in 
the altar, covered with flowers from the gardens and con- 
servatory at Laurellawn ; and the silver-haired patriarch 
who sat beside them, his head bent forward as though in 
deep thought. 

But Louise saw none of these things. Her whole 
attention was directed to the tall, awkward young man 
near the desk. His black .hair pushed back from his 
forehead; his eyes shining with a strange, eager light, 
and one large brown hand resting on the Bible which lay 
upon his knee. 

The choir ceased singing, and the tall form arose. In 
a clear, calm voice he announced his text, — “ What shall 
it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his 
own soul ? Or, what shall a man give in exchange for 
his soul ?” 

Louise did not enter the church, but, standing there 
among the shadows, she listened to the sermon as she 
had. never listened before. Years afterwards, when the 
froth and the foam from life’s cup were gone, leaving 
only the dregs to drink, she remembered how the 
preacher had added, “ What shall it profit? What shall 
it profit?'" At the close of the sermon, in a few earnest, 
heart-felt words. Jack Greythorn spoke of the future, of 
the distant land to which he was going, of the duties 
and trials and dangers that awaited him there, of the 
loneliness and homesickness that would be sure to come. 
How he should miss the dear familiar faces, how he 
should long for the sound of a kindly voice and the 
touch of a friendly hand. How he should listen in vain 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


87 


for the chimes of the church-bells, and wonder what 
they were doing at home. How he might never come 
back from that far-off clime, where danger lurks in every 
shadow, and each breath of the fierce wind seems laden 
with death, — might never return to the little cottage 
where, as a child, he knelt by his mother’s knee and 
learned to pray in the flickering firelight, — might never 
again enter the church before whose altar he had pledged 
his life to God. And if he should return, how many the 
changes would be ? How many places would be vacant ? 
How many faces would be missing? How many voices 
would be hushed forever ? How many graves would 
there be for the daisies and myrtle to cover ? “ But God 

knoweth all things, and doeth all things well. ‘ God’s 
will be done !’ ” 

There were few eyes that were not misty, few heads that 
were not bowed. Blanche and Majella were crying softly. 
Mrs. Greythorn sobbed aloud ; while his poor old father 
wiped the tears from his dim eyes and murmured, — 

“ God bless and keep my boy !” 

The choir sang, God be with you till we meet again !” 
but their voices seemed strangely tremulous and broken. 
Only one sang clear and sweet, and that was Nellie 
Adams, — gentle, orphan Nellie who lived with Miss 
Dickson by the bridge. Ever since the old school-days, 
when the boys took the girls coasting down the long 
snow-clad hill, or taught them to skate at Fairy Lake, ^ 
Jack Greythorn had been Nellie’s ideal. Too innocent 
and truthful to hide her preference, many and many a 
time her fair face had grown pale and her sad brown eyes 
sadder still, when he turned carelessly from her at a word, 
a look, or a gesture from the auburn-haired beauty of 
Laurellawn. 


88 


M A JELL A; OR, 


And yet, to-night, with a smile on her lips and a flush 
on her cheek, she sang these words of sad farewell; 
while the other, so heartless and unworthy, knew, as she 
stood out there in the darkness, that with her own hands 
she had cast away the best chance for happiness that she 
would ever have. 

As the last notes of the chorus died away, Louise 
turned to leave the church, for she did not care to be 
recognized there; but her steps were arrested by the 
voice of Mr. Blake, the pastor in charge. He was not 
pronouncing the benediction, he was making an an- 
nouncement, — something about a solemn ceremony 
about to be performed. What did it mean ? Why did 
the people look so surprised ? Why had the speaker 
stepped forward with a little silver-clasped book in his 
hand ? Why had Nellie Adams risen from her place in 
the orchestra and glided down the steps ? And why was 
Jack Greythorn standing there to receive her ? A silence 
had fallen on the audience. The momentary wave of 
excitement was hushed. The very lights seemed to 
burn low. Outside, the wind sighed softly among the 
maples, and far off on the hill an owl cried mournfully. 

Jack Greythorn took the orphan girl’s hand in his 
and led her to the altar, where the man of God stood 
awaiting them. A few questions answered by Jack in a 
firm, clear tone, and by Nellie in little more than a whis- 
per, and then, in a voice whose solemn accents rang 
through the church and out into the dim vestibule, the 
old minister pronounced them man and wife. 

Out of the altar, down the aisle, past the rows of eager 
faces, came the young missionary and his bride. A car- 
riage waited before the door. They must pass through 
the hall to reach it. They would see her, recognize her, 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


89 

and wonder why she was there. Still, Louise did not 
move from her position by the bell-rope. Some power 
stronger than reason, stronger than pride, seemed to 
chain her to the spot. 

On and on they came. The usher swung open the 
doors. They were beside her, brushing her dress as 
they passed. They paused a moment while he wrapped 
a shawl about Nellie’s shoulders. They were moving 
on. They could not see her; but just as they reached 
the door Jack Greythorn turned. Their eyes met. Did 
he murmur, as he bent towards her, “ Good-by, Lolo ! 
Good-by forever ?” Or was it the autumn wind that 
sighed it ? The brook that murmured it ? The stars 
that whispered it, as she stole away through the dark- 
ness to the great house on the hill ? 

The family had already arrived when Louise reached 
home, and were gathered in the sitting-room discussing 
the wonderful events of the evening. She did not join 
them, but went softly up the stairs to her own room, 
where hour after hour she tossed among the pillows. 

When at last sleep did come, it was only to dream that 
a strange, witch-like creature, with thin, wrinkled face 
and cruel black eyes, came and stood beside her, and 
catching her long bright tresses in her bony hand sev- 
ered them with a single cut of her shining scissors. 
Then, bending over the bed till her withered lips touched 
the girl’s white forehead, she whispered, — 

“ When youth is gone and beauty is faded, and you’ve 
bartered away your soul for gold, ‘ what will you give in 
exchange’ ?” 

Oh, help, help !” cried Louise, and awoke in the dim 
young dawn of the autumn morning. Rising, she crossed 
the room and knelt by the eastern window. The rain 

7 


90 


MAJELLA; OR, 


was falling softly, steadily, sadly. The heliotrope had 
bent their heads, the grass was heavy with moisture. 
The birds sat silent among the boughs. A long, shrill 
whistle sounded. The next moment there was a streak 
of white steam, and the train from the West rushed up 
the valley and stopped at the station. A few moments 
later it sped away round the curve and over the hill to 
the eastward, and Louise knew, as she rushed to. the 
window, that that train bore Jack Greythorn and his 
young wife away towards their far-off home. 


CHAPTER XI. 
retta’s experience. 

A scANTiLY-furnished private sitting-room in a scantily- 
furnished hotel. A slow fire burned on the hearth, and 
before it stood a girl with clasped hands and bowed 
head. There was a step in the hall outside. The door 
opened, and a tall, slender young man, whose loosely- 
jointed form could hardly fail to be recognized as 
that of Mr. Shortleigh, the agent and assistant mana- 
ger of the Kannawa Medicine Company, entered the 
room. 

“ Retta,” he said, as he advanced towards her, “ what is 
the use of all this nonsense ?” 

“ That’s just what I say,” she replied, without changing 
her position. “ If you’ll be a little more civil, I for one 
shall feel very thankful.” 

“ Oh, come now ! Don’t get on your high horse again. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


91 


You’re too hard on a fellow. You know I’m in love with 
you, Retta, awfully in love; and you can’t wonder I feel 
jealous when I see others admiring you wherever we 
go. I can’t endure it any longer, and, what’s more, I 
won’t!” 

“ Pray, what will you do ?” Retta Grey asked, lifting 
her head and revealing her face, which had grown 
strangely aged and saddened since that night when she 
played the “ Gypsy Queen” at Glen Oberon. 

“ Marry you,” was the prompt reply. 

“Without my consent ?” 

“ With or without, as you please.” 

“ But you can’t do it. You can’t marry a woman 
against her will. No minister in the world would per- 
form such a ceremony.” 

“Wouldn’t he, though? We shall see# There’s 
Father O’Banny. He’s an old friend of mine, and would 
enjoy the joke. Oh, you needn’t get in one of your tan- 
trums,” as Retta began pacing up and down the room ; 
“it will not do you any good. You’re trapped at last, 
and may as well give in. Dr. Harmon and his wife have 
gone to New York, leaving me in charge of the com- 
pany. Charley Garr is dying for some fun, and would 
relish the joke immensely ; while the priest would not 
mind an extra fee to help pray him through purgatory. 
I’ll just step around and call on his reverence, and have 
the thing settled before the old rats get home. Meantime, 
as you’re such a wild bird. I’d better keep you caged.” 
So saying, he took the key from the door, which he 
opened and passed out, closing it after him. 

Retta heard him lock the door and hurry away down 
the hall. A prisoner in a strange house, young, beauti- 
ful, and alone, with no friend to whom she could appeal 


92 


M A JELL A; OR, 


for help. With only that cruel, selfish man, who had 
persecuted her for months, taking every opportunity to 
force his attentions upon her, and who now seemed to 
hold her completely in his power. 

“ Oh, for a breath of the lilacs, for the song of the 
birds among the trees ! Oh, for the little, white-curtained 
room, with the moonlight shining through the windows, 
and over the roses in the old broken pitcher on the 
shelf! Oh, for the sight of Blanche Heathburn’s fair 
face, the sound of Majella’s voice, and the touch of 
Grandma Grey’s soft hand I” With a bitter sob the 
homesick girl threw herself on the sofa and hid her face 
in the cushions. Poor Retta ! This was not the first 
time she had longed for the little cottage among the 
hills, and the kind friends whom she had forsaken. 

Many and many a time during the last six months she 
had regretted the step taken so hastily ; and only pride 
had kept her from returning to the home where she 
felt sure they would welcome her gladly. 

Dr. and Mrs. Harmon were kind to her, and seemed 
like respectable people, but the other members of the 
company were rough, vulgar, and sometimes vicious. 
Retta soon discovered that the best class of people did 
not patronize their entertainments ; that, instead of be- 
coming a famous actress and winning the world’s 
applause, she was in danger of sinking to the level of 
those about her, and receiving only the comments and 
criticisms of loud-voiced women and the admiration of 
men whose very looks were repellent. 

Anson Shortleigh was perfectly unscrupulous where 
his own wishes were concerned. He had conceived a 
sort of passion for her, which he called love. She knew 
that he would not hesitate at any scheme, no matter how 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 93 

dishonorable it might be, that seemed likely to answer 
his purpose. 

Might he not bribe the priest and witnesses as he had 
suggested, go through some kind of ceremony that would 
make her his wife, and thus separate her from the pure, 
true friends that seemed doubly dear, now that they were 
so far away ? 

She must escape, and. that at once; but how, locked 
in like a criminal awaiting his doom ? Even if she could 
find a way out, what would become of her ? Alone in 
the streets at ten o’clock at night, with no money and no 
idea of her surroundings, — for they had reached town 
after dark the night before, and a severe cold had pre- 
vented her leaving the hotel during the day, — what 
should, what could she do ? 

“ Hark ! was that some one coming up the stairs ?” 
Retta strained every nerve to listen. Yes, there was a 
step, — two ! One quick and light ; the other slow and 
heavy. The girl sprang to her feet, and stood like some 
hunted creature at bay. The door opened, and the agent 
entered, followed by a short, fat man puffing like a steam- 
engine, and mopping his red face vigorously with his 
pocket handkerchief. 

“ Well, here we are, all right,” Shortleigh said, as he 
closed the door behind him and his friend. ” This is the 
girl.” 

“ Ah, yes, indeed, and she is a handsome one. Pret- 
tiest girl I’ve seen since I left Ireland.” 

” She’s pretty enough, but, as I told you, very nervous. 
Subject to hysteria, — yes, very nervous, — needs a strong 
hand to guide her, you know.” 

“ Just so; just so,” replied the priest, nodding his gray 
head. 


94 


M A JELL A; OR, 


Retta had intended to appeal to this man’s sense of 
justice, to his honor, his humanity, for mercy. But as 
she looked at his coarse, red face, and saw the leer in 
his blue eyes as they turned meaningly towards his 
companion, she knew that it would be useless. 

At that moment the door opened, and Mr. Garr en- 
tered, accompanied by a man named Nichols, a new 
member of the company, who amused the crowds by 
feats of magic and rough jokes. They had evidently 
been drinking, and were eager for a lark. 

“ Ah, here we are !” cried the priest. “ Now all’s ready. 
I suppose you want this little business transacted as soon 
as possible, Mr. Shortleigh?” 

“ The sooner the better,” answered that gentleman, 
advancing towards Retta, .who retreated across the room 
until she stood just in front of a long window opening 
on a balcony. 

“ Come,” he said, in a low voice ; “ there is no use in 
making a scene. Four against one, and that one a 
woman. You may as well give in gracefully.” 

“ Never !” cried the girl, turning upon him with flash- 
ing eyes. “ I would rather die — die where I stand — than 
become your wife. Anson Shortleigh, you are a low, 
mean, selfish fiend. If you had one spark of sense, of 
manhood, you would not force your attentions upon an 
orphan girl, who loathes and detests you. Of my own 
free will I will never marry you, — never ! And if you 
compel me to do so, I will appeal to the courts for jus- 
tice ! Surely, in this boasted land of freedom, there must 
be some law to protect helpless women !” 

Nichols laughed boisterously, Garr gave a maudlin 
echo, while the priest stared at the girl in open admira- 
tion. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 95 

You shall marry me !” Shortleigh exclaimed, stepping 
forward and catching her left hand. 

“ I shall not !” Retta answered, and, quick as light, 
dealt him a stinging blow in the face with her right hand. 
With a half-muttered oath he sprang towards her and 
seized her by the shoulder. There was a crash of light 
wood, a splintering of glass, and Retta stood out on the 
balcony, the wild March storm beating in her face ; while 
her tormentor staggered backward, holding in his hand 
the shawl she had been wearing. The next moment he 
sprang through the broken window like a panther in 
pursuit of his escaping prey. But Retta had already 
fled down the flight of stairs that led to the ground, 
along the drive- way, and out upon the street. She neither 
thought nor cared where she went. Her one idea was 
to escape. With freedom came courage. Away she 
bounded through the gloom, avoiding the brightly- 
lighted thoroughfares, lest she should be discovered. 
Her one hope lay in losing herself in the darkness. This 
the night favored. 

The moon had not yet risen. The stars were obscured 
by dense black clouds, while a fierce March storm was 
raging. On she sped along the slippery street, over the 
uneven pavements ; now stumbling against a dry-goods 
box, now fancying she heard footsteps close behind her ; 
then slipping on the ice ; and again imagining the moan 
of the wind through the leafless trees was the voice of 
her pursuer calling upon her to halt. The lights grew 
fewer, the pavement rougher, the storm more fierce. 
The half-frozen rain beat in her face, stung her uncovered 
hands, and clung to her skirts. Her long hair floated 
backward in the wind, her thinly-clad feet were soaked 
and heavy, yet she never thought how utterly unpro- 


96 M A JELL A; OR, 

tected she was, never realized that she was facing danger, 
— it might be death. 

Her foot caught in the broken pavement. In extri- 
cating it, she lost her light shoe. She did not pause to 
remedy the misfortune, but rushed on, her poor foot 
bruised and bleeding. Suddenly she grew faint. The 
almost supernatural strength which had seemed to pos- 
sess her gave way. Human endurance was at an end. 
With a little sob of despair she sank upon the icy street, 
and, as the rain-laden wind swept over her, felt with a 
thrill of pain that she should rise no more. 

Was it hard to die ? She had never thought of it be- 
fore ; and what would become of her ? Was she a 
Christian ? She could pray, oh, yes, she had prayed all 
her life ! She knew the Prayer-Book almost by heart ; 
but of what avail were those formal words now ? Oh, 
for Majella’s faith, so simple and strong ! Oh, for Ma- 
jella to kneel beside her! God would hear the blind 
girl’s prayer. He must love her. She was such a true 
and faithful child. Perhaps he would listen to her be- 
cause she was Majella’s friend, and, bowing her head on 
her fair, cold hands, §he prayed, — 

“ God be merciful to me for Majella’s sake I” 

It was a weak, imperfect prayer, relying, it may be, too 
much on human power ; yet, who shall say that the All- 
wise Father did not hear and answer it? 

“ Ah, what’s this ? Some one evidently been drinking 
and laid down here in the storm. Strange the police 
haven’t found him ! Get up, my poor fellow ; you’ll be 
frozen to death before morning.” 

Retta heard the words as though at a great distance, 
but was too weak to comprehend their meaning. 

“ Come, come I Rouse up 1 Give me your hand. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 9 / 

ril Why, great heavens !” as he bent lower over 

the prostrate form, “ it’s a woman !” 

“ Oh, please don’t send me back ! Don’t, don’t ! I’d 
so much rather die !” Retta answered. 

“ Who are you ? and where did you come from ?” the 
stranger asked, and now his voice was hard and sus- 
picious. 

“ I am Retta Grey, and came from the Gray Wolf 
Hotel. I ran away from a cruel, wicked man who wanted 
to marry me, and a priest who was bribed to perform the 
ceremony.” 

” A strange story, truly ; but where is your home ?” 

“ At Glen Oberon.” 

“ Glen Oberon ! I know of no place near by of that 
name.” 

“ Oh, it is far away, so far that I shall never see it 
again, or grandma, or Majella, or any one who loves me.” 

“ But have you no friends here ?” 

” No, only enemies. Oh, please tell me of some place 
where they cannot find me, — where I shall be safe till 
morning.” 

I don’t know,” the man said, thoughtfully. There 
are not many places where they would care to take a 
strange woman at this time of the night without hearing 
her whole story, and being quite certain it was true.” 

“ Oh, it is true, perfectly true,” Retta exclaimed, sud- 
denly realizing how suspicious the circumstances must 
appear to a stranger. 

“ I can explain it all, everything, — only I’m so cold 
and tired,” she murmured. 

The moon had risen behind the tall chimneys, and, 
although the clouds were still dense, it redeemed the 
night from utter blackness. In the faint light the stranger 


98 


M A JELL A; OR, 


could see a mass of matted black hair and a white face 
raised appealingly to his. Something touched his heart 
and drove out all doubt and suspicion forever. 

Poor child !” he said, and his voice was as gentle as 
a woman’s, “ you cannot remain a moment longer here. 
Give me your hand. You must come with me.” 

Retta’s skirts were heavy and stiff with ice, and it was 
only by a desperate effort that she rose to her feet. The 
gentleman held his umbrella over her uncovered head, 
and clinging to his arm she managed to stagger along, 
though at every step she felt in danger of falling. 

“ Where — where are you taking me ?” she gasped at 
last, fearful lest he might be leading her back to the 
hotel. 

I’m taking you to my mother,” was the answer. 

“ But will she let me come in without knowing my 
story, and looking like such a fright ?” 

“ My mother would not refuse shelter to her enemy’s 
dog on such a night as this, much less to a fellow-being. 
Courage ! We are almost at homej 

In her cosey sitting-room, with its bright carpet and 
curtains, Mrs. Norfield sat plying her needle busily on a 
piece of dainty white cambric, evidently intended for a 
doll’s skirt. 

“ Dear me, how Penn will laugh !” she said, aloud. 
“ He’ll say it’s all nonsense dressing up dolls and giving 
them to my washer-woman’s children. But when I saw 
that poor little Jennie, who brings home the laces, look- 
ing so wistfully at the dolls in Norman’s window, I said 
to myself, ‘You shall have one as nice as any of them.’ 
I think poor children appreciate dolls more than rich 
ones, and I’m sure I enjoy dressing them as well as 
though I were a child myself. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


99 


I should think Penn would come ; but I suppose he 
got to telling some of his adventures up at the Grand 
Army of the Republic room, and doesn’t realize how late 
it is. Poor boy ! If it hadn’t been for that bullet in his 
arm, I suppose he would still be at the fort out on the 
Western frontier. Of course I don’t want him to suffer, 
but I cannot help being glad he’s home, if only on a fur- 
lough. I don’t think he will return before next fall. I 
wish I could persuade him to give up the army altogether. 
It is hard to part with one’s only child!” And the 
widow took off her spectacles, wiped them carefully, and 
replacing them, threaded her needle, and began to sew 
on the lace ruffle that was to finish the pretty garment. 

^‘Ah! there he comes now,” she whispered, as the 
hall-door opened, “ and somebody is with him. One of 
his Grand Army friends, I presume and the hospitable 
old lady laid down her work to welcome the guest. But 
when Penn entered he looked so grave and troubled that 
his mother rose to her feet at once, exclaiming, — 

“ What is it, my son ? What is the matter ?” 

“ Don’t be frightened, mother ; I’m all right,” replied 
the young man, knowing her first care was always for 
him. 

I’ve brought you a patient.” 

A patient, Penn ?” 

“ Yes, mother ; a young girl whom I ” 

But his energetic little mother had already pushed past 
him and was bending over Retta, who, overcome by her 
excitement, had sunk into one of the large hall-chairs. 

“ Dear me I The poor thing has fainted dead away. 
She must be brought into the sitting-room at once. 
Shall I call a servant to help you, Penn ?” 

“ No, mother, I can carry her easily,” and, lifting the 


100 


MAJELLA; OR, 


limp form in his arms, the young man went into the 
adjoining room and laid her on the sofa, where his mother 
was already waiting with her favorite restoratives. But 
it was a long time before Retta opened her eyes or showed 
any signs of returning consciousness. 

By and by, when she seemed a little stronger, Penn 
helped her up-stairs to the large bright chamber next to 
his mother’s. Here, all through the night, the widow 
sat beside the sick girl, smoothing out the matted hair 
and trying to soothe the troubled brain ; but, when 
morning came, she saw that it was useless. 

Retta’s eyes were unnaturally bright, her face and 
hands burning with fever, and words strange and wild 
fell from her lips. She wanted to go home, — home to the 
cottage among the lilacs, where*Grandma Grey would put 
out the fire that was burning in her brain ; and if she were 
going to die, Majella would tell her the way to heaven. 

“ I’m so tired !” she moaned, looking up into the pity- 
ing face that bent above her. “ I want to sleep, but I 
cannot here. I must be in my own little room, under 
the roof where the rain patters so softly, and the lilacs 
look in at the window. Please take me back to grandma. 
I cannot die till I tell her I am sorry. Dear, kind lady, 
take me home !” 

“ Penn, we must have medical aid at once,” said Mrs. 
Norfield, as she entered the breakfast-room. “ As our 
family physician is out of town, had we not better send 
for Dr. Vanberg ? He has just returned from a trip to 
Germany, you know, where he has made brain- diseases 
a specialty.” 

” Yes, mother, that will be best. I will see him imme- 
diately. I am sure there are warm hearts somewhere 
that would almost break if Retta Grey should die.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


lOI 


Dr. Vanberg came, and pronounced the disease brain 
fever. Thus the battle began, — the battle for life, which 
the young girl fought so bravely, though it seemed quite 
hopeless at times. 

“ How is your patient, doctor ?” Penn inquired, one 
bright April morning, meeting the physician in the lower 
hall. 

“ A slight improvement,” was the brief reply. Then, 
as if a sudden thought had occui»red to him, — 

“ By-the-by, captain, do you know anything about 
those Heathburns of whom she talks so much ?” 

Heathburns ! No. The name sounds familiar, but I 
cannot tell where I have heard it.” 

“Just so. Well, when I was in Germany I met a 
young student by that name, — a bright fellow, too. 
Seems to me I have his address somewhere,” and search- 
ing his note-book, the sagacious little doctor glanced 
rapidly over its pages. 

“ Ah, here it is : ‘ Victor Heathburn, Laurellawn, Glen 
Oberon, Pa.’” 

“ Glen Oberon ! Why, that is where Miss Grey lives.” 

“ You don’t say so ? Then the families are the same. 
Now, wouldn’t it be a good idea to drop a note to this 
Harley Heathburn, of whom she talks so much. I wish 
you would just attend to it, captain. Make a brief state- 
ment of the circumstances, you know.” 

“ Well, doctor, Pll act upon your advice and Penn 
turned towards the library wondering vaguely what link 
there was between Harley Heathburn and Retta Grey. 

There was great excitement at Laurellawn when Cap- 
tain Norfield’s letter arrived. Blanche cried herself 
into a nervous headache. It was “ so dreadful for Retta 
to be sick among strangers, even though the nice, kind 


102 


JELL A; OR, 


gentleman with the lovely mother said she was getting 
better !” she sobbed. . Majella went up to her room 
to thank the Father who had answered her prayers at 
last; while Harley mounted his fleet black horse and 
hastened away to the “ Lilacs.” 

Norfield, Norfield,” he repeated, as he paced slowly 
homeward. “Ah, I have it ! That was the name of the 
young fellow at Fort Greene who was so kind to father 
and me when we were travelling through the West, a year 
ago, looking up that tract of land Grandfather Marshall 
left me, because he didn’t want to bother Victor with a 
bequest that wasn’t worth the paper it took to make it. 
There’s nothing so beautiful as impartiality. Well, well. 
I don’t envy Victor his intellect, or his books, or his 

fortune But, by Jove ! it isn’t fair that Majella 

should belong to him, too !” ^ 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE EXPECTED GUESTS. 

“Victor is coming home to-day!” Majella whispered, 
as she pushed back the curtains and stood in the open 
bay-window, inhaling the fragrance of roses and laurels 
which floated up from the garden below. 

June had come with its flowers, its birds, its sunshine, 
and with it Laurellawn had awakened into new life and 
activity. The young heir was coming home. The star 
of the family would once more shed brightness on the 
little circle. 

The hope of the Heathburns would be realized. Al- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. IO3 

ready Victor had won intellectual distinction and achieved 
high social triumphs. 

Alice de Guerre had cast on him her brightest smiles, 
while it is said that the Duchess of Maine had remarked 
to the Countess of Afferton that “ in everything, save a 
title, Mr. Heathburn was the equal of the most thorough 
English aristocrat ; and his great bank account, together 
with the fortune which he would inherit from his father, 
went a long way to make up that deficiency.” 

Yes, Victor was coming home, and must receive a 
royal welcome. The grounds were remodelled after the 
English plan; the stables and carriage-house refitted; 
the piazzas supplied with hammocks and easy-chairs; 
the drawing-rooni was refurnished in the newer shades ; 
the dining-room scaled according to the latest fad; 
the conservatory restocked with Victor’s favorite flowers. 
But it was evident some one besides Victor was coming. 
The guest-chambers were dusted and aired ; the silver 
and china polished to almost impossible brightness ; and 
the whole house thrown open with an air of boundless 
hospitality. 

Yes, guests, distinguished guests, were expected. Mr. 
Thomas Allingford, the banker, who hoped erelong to 
claim the beauty of Laurellawn as his bride; Judge 
Kingston and his niece, who were returning to America 
on the same steamer with Victor Heathburn. They 
had intended to remain at the large summer boarding- 
house until their cottage at Interlaken could be reno- 
vated, but the Heathburns insisted on them making their 
home with them, and the judge, because he hated board- 
ing-houses, and Miss Gertrude, because she had a scheme 
of her own, gladly accepted the invitation. 

Captain Norfield and his mother were also expected, 


104 


MAJELLA: OR, 


for Mrs. Heathburn had been much pleased with them 
when, early in the spring, they brought Retta home, and, 
at Grandma Grey’s request, spent a few days at the 

Lilacs.” 

Mrs. Norfield was evidently a lady, though so simple 
in her manners and dress ; while her son was really 
a gentleman, handsome and distinguished. So, when 
Harley suggested that they should be included in the 
list of summer guests, his far-seeing mother adopted his 
advice, and wrote a charming note of invitation, which, 
after some hesitation, was accepted. The Norfields were 
not expected until the following day, while Mr. Ailing- 
ford might not arrive before the next week ; but Victor 
and the Kingstons were coming that afternoon. The 
steamer had reached New York the previous evening, 
as a telegram had informed them, and they would arrive 
at Glen Oberon on the 2.30 train. All was bustle and 
excitement. 

Mrs. Heathburn seemed to have entirely forgotten that 
she could not endure the least domestic worry, and was 
in the kitchen giving orders for dinner. Louise and 
Blanche were draping curtains, straightening pictures, 
and arranging flowers, and doing the hundred and one 
things which could not be intrusted to the less careful 
hands of servants. Harley was out in the stable, rub- 
bing down the sleek black horses, for, as he said, he 

didn’t want that Frenchified girl to think there wasn’t 
any decent horses in America.” At length, having 
smoothed down the last rebellious hair, shook out the 
wavy manes, and informed the apparently interested ani- 
mals what a distinguished trio they would bring from 
the station that afternoon, the young man walked slowly 
towards the house, and, seeing Majella in the Snuggery- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, I05 

window, joined her, exclaiming, as he threw himself in 
an easy-chair, — 

“ ‘ Great Scott !’ what’s the use of such a rumpus ? 
Why can’t Victor come home like common people ? 
What’s the use of bringing that cranky old judge, who’ll 
be afraid of a draught, and can’t endure the slightest 
noise? And as for his niece, with her Parisian airs, if 
she don’t get her fine feathers ruffled in this climate, I 
miss my guess, that’s all.” 

“ Why, Harley ! Miss Kingston is very, very nice ! 
Victor says so.” 

“ Oh, hush ! If Victor said a crocodile was nice, 
you’d adopt it as a pet at once. I tell you that girl is a 
schemer, and comes herewith the distinct intention of 
kidnapping my brother.” 

Harley ! — what do you mean ? Why should Miss 
Kingston wish to kidnap Victor, as you call it?” 

“ Why, dear, there should be a new book written, en- 
titled ‘ Innocence at Home,’ with you as the heroine ; 
but to come down from the classic heights of oratory, 
and speak in a language which even you can compre- 
hend, Gertrude Kingston intends to marry Victor Heath- 
burn, said Victor Heathburn’s mother and oldest sister 
being accessory to the crime. I tell you what it is, 
Majella, I’d rather bring the small-pox from the station, 
if it were well-boxed and warranted not to evaporate, 
than that girl, with her faded-out eyes and poodle-dog 
curls.” 

Well, Harley, perhaps you are right; but I am too 
happy to-day to listen to any dark prophecies. Victor’s 
coming home, that is enough for me.” With a low 
laugh the blind girl left the room, and, gliding up the 
broad staircase, paused a moment at Victor’s door, just 

8 


Io6 M A JELL A; OR, 

to ascertain if the fragrance of the flowers were too strong ; 
but the mingling of roses, lilies, and heliotrope was quite 
perfect; and with a satisfied smile she passed on to her 
own room, humming a little German song which Victor 
had taught her years ago. 

“ There, Miss Majella, that’s just beautiful ! You look 
for all the world like a picture!” And the little French 
maid clasped her hands in an^ ecstasy of admiration and 
delight. 

“ Really, Ninnette, do you think my dress becoming ?” 
the blind girl asked, eagerly. 

“ As becoming as the feathers are to a bird, my dear. 
But here is Aunt Katie. Let’s hear what she thinks.” 

“ Step a bit more towards the window, honey,” the 
nurse said, after a careful inspection. ” My old eyes is 
gittin’ dimmer, or else these spectacles don’t fit. Seems 
as though they sort of blur.” 

Majella obeyed, stepping into the bay-window, where a 
streak of afternoon sunshine fell over her wavy dark hair, 
her clear, pale face, and her dress of creamy-white cash- 
mere with a knot of rose-buds nestling in the lace at 
her throat. 

“ Well, auntie, do you think I’ll do ?” she asked, after 
a moment’s silence. 

“ Yes, child. I always knew you was different from 
anybody else. Kind of shadowy and misty-like ; but I 
never thought you could look like that, — never.” 

“ She’s perfectly lovely !” cried the little maid, dancing 
about the room for very joy. “And the company will 
say so too, if they’ve got any eyes.” 

“ I don’t care much what the company says,” Majella 
answered, thoughtfully. “ But, Aunt Katie, do — do you 
think Victor will be pleased with me?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


107 


Goodness, gracious, child ! One would suppose there 
wasn’t anybody in the world but Mr. Victor. It’s always 
been just so, ever since that morning when you stood 
in the sunshine a-looking up at him with your big, sorry 
eyes, as if you was coaxing him to be good to you. 
Mercy on us ! It seems but yesterday since you were 
a wee little thing in Blanche’s worn-out frock, and Mr. 
Victor a boy kneeling on the floor beside you ; and now 
you’re a grown-up lady, waitin’ to welcome the young 
master. Will he be pleased with you ? Ah, dearie, if he’s 

got any appreciation, lie’ll^ Well, well, only the good 

Lord knows what will happen.” 

And Aunt Katie hobbled away, shaking her head 
solemnly, as she muttered, “ I’m afeared — I’m afeared, 
when we set our hearts on one big, tall rose in the gar- 
den, and don’t think no other flower worth looking at, 
or smelling of, if a storm should come along and break 
off that ’ere rose, it would be dreadful hard to bear.” 

But Majella had no such forebodings, no memory, 
even, of Harley’s dark prophecy, as she went down to 
the Snuggery to await Victor’s coming. She did not 
pause to ask herself why she did not join the family 
in the drawing-room, — why she preferred to meet her 
guardian where no prying eyes could see. 

She knew Victor would come to her there ; and she 
felt, in some dim, vague way, it would be safer to meet 
him alone. She sat down in the vine-shaded window, 
never dreaming what a picture she made. 

Majella’s idea of beauty was not very clear. True, she 
had a memory, a faint, fleeting memory, of a time long 
ago when she had beheld the sky and the grass and the 
flowers. But, like a beautiful dream, it grew dimmer 
and dimmer until it faded into darkness. 


io8 


MAJELLA; OR, 


\ 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FIRST IMPRESSIONS. 

From far away among the hills came a shrill whistle, 
announcing the approach of the afternoon train. Fifteen 
minutes later there was the sound of carriage- wheels and 
the quick even beat of .horses’ hoofs, then eager voices 
and hurrying feet as the family hastened out on the piazza 
to welcome the guests. 

The next moment the carriage drew up before the 
broad stone steps, and, screened by the vines, Majella 
leaned forward to listen. She heard Colonel Heathburn 
welcoming Judge Kingston to his native land once more, 
while the judge replied in tones trembling either from 
age or emotion, — 

“ Yes, Dick, it is good to be back in the old land ; 
but there are many changes, my boy. Ah, many 
changes !” 

Then Mrs. Heathburn exclaimed, — 

Welcome to Laurellawn, my dear Gertrude ! Victor 
has written so much about you, we already feel you to be 
an old friend.” 

Oh, thank you, Mrs. Heathburn. It’s awfully kind 
of you to say such nice things !” cried the young lady, 
in a voice that seemed somewhat shrill compared with 
Louise’s perfectly modulated tones, as she stepped for- 
ward to join her mother in greeting the guest. But 
where was Victor, Majella wondered, just as Blanche 
asked the same question. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


109 


Oh, it’s too perfectly horrid !” exclaimed Miss King- 
ston, who evidently considered adjectives and adverbs 
the principal parts of speech. “ That abominable old Dr. 
Vanberg met Victor in New York, and insisted on car- 
rying him off to a hideous hospital ; said if he would 
stay to see some experiments they were going to try he 
would accompany him home on the next train. I think 
it was just wretched of him.” 

“ Whom ? — the doctor or Victor ?” inquired Harley. 

” I was referring to the physician,” Miss Kingston 
answered, without turning her head towards the speaker. 
Evidently the battle had already begun. 

“Victor was quite right,” said Judge Kingston, as they 
entered the hall. “The case is one of great importance. 
Dr. Vanberg is an old friend of Victor’s, and, knowing 
what a deep interest the young man takes in all matters 
pertaining to science, it was only natural he should wish 
him to be present at an experiment the results of which 
will be awaited with anxiety by the greatest physicians 
on both sides of the ocean, and which, should it succeed, 
will be of incalculable value to the medical profession. 
Besides, Richard, I am sure you will be glad to welcome 
this famous German doctor to Laurellawn.” 

“ Indeed I shall,” replied the colonel, earnestly. “ Victor 
has written a great deal about his queer old friend, who 
knows so much and says so little.” 

Then the family passed into the drawing-room, and 
Majella heard no more. Two hours and a half ! Would 
the time ever pass? With a sigh of resignation she 
settled back among the cushions, and, folding her hands, 
waited patiently while the sun sank lower behind the 
hills and the shadows grew longer on the lawn. 

She was awakened from her day-dreams by the sound 


no MAJELLA; OR, 

of voices overhead in the room that had been assigned 
to Miss Kingston. 

“You don’t mean to tell me, Louise,” exclaimed the 
young lady, in her clear, shrill tones, “ that that blind 
girl is acknowledged as one of the family ?” 

“ Indeed I do. Victor has insisted upon it from the 
first.” 

“And you treat her as your own sister ?” 

“ No, I do not !” answered Miss Heathburn, raising her 
voice a trifle; “mamma and I have always objected to 
her presence here. We thought it would be better to 
send her to a home of foundlings ; bring her up in 
accordance with her birth and station in life. But Victor 
would listen to no suggestions ; take no advice. Majella 
must be dressed, educated, and treated like a lady, — a 
Hedthbiirnr 

“And, pray, what does your brother intend to do with 
that protegee of his ?” 

“ I really do not know, though sometimes I’ve feared 
that — that ” 

“ Well ?” 

“That if Victor takes her and Blanche to Europe next 
year, as has been planned, and she undergoes an opera- 
tion, which Dr. Vanberg thinks will result in the partial — 
it may be total — recovery of her sight, he might marry 
her.” 

“ Marry that ignorant, ugly child !” 

“ She is not ignorant,” Louise replied, quickly. “ Her 
education is far better than Blanche’s or my own ; and 

as for being ugly Well, my dear, you can decide 

that question for yourself.” 

“ But she’s low and vulgar !” cried Miss Kingston, 
indignantly. “ An outcast, a vagabond, a mere pauper. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


Ill 


The idea of your brother — the heir of Laurellawn, the 
handsome young scholar, the pet of London society — 
marrying that blind, nameless nobody, — without parents, 
without wealth, and without position, whose father was 
ashamed to acknowledge her, and whose mother shame- 
fully deserted and left her to the charity of strangers ; 
whose very existence is ” 

But Majella heard no more. She fled away to her own 
room, where, locking the door, she hid her burning face 
among the pillows, as she sobbed, — 

'' Oh, Victor ! Victor ! why did you not let them send 
me at once to the poor-house, where I should have sick- 
ened and died, and been buried in the Potter’s field like 
any other pauper ? Why did you keep me here in this 
beautiful home? Why did you encourage my thirst for 
knowledge ? Why did you lead me to believe that I 
was worthy to be your friend, — your sister ? Why did 
you let me learn to love you ? I, a blind, nameless 
nobody, without family, without wealth, and without 
position ? 

“ Oh, mother, mother ! why did you desert your 
poor blind baby? Had you no heart, no love, no 
pity?” 

The last rays of the setting sun still lingered on the 
eastern hill-tops, though Laurellawn and the valley below 
were all in shadow. The birds were singing vesper 
hymns, the brook murmured softly to the bending wil- 
lows, while far up the glen the music of cow-bells tinkled 
through the evening air. 

White and still as a flower that lifts its slender head 
after a storm, Majella stood on the threshold, listening to 
the merry voices in the drawing-room. There were Ger- 
trude’s sharp notes, Blanche’s silvery laughter, Louise’s 


II2 


MAJELLA; OR, 


cultivated tones, and Yes, there could be no mistake 

in that voice, Where’s Majella ?” 

Like a wild bird freed from prison, the blind girl sped 
down the stairs and along the hall, until her feet caught 
in some light fabric^ There was the sound of breaking 
threads, and then Gertrude Kingston’s voice, exclaiming, 
angrily,— 

‘‘You careless creature ! How dare you run over me 
like that ? You’ve torn off half my train ! Much as I 
have heard of the awkwardness of American servants, I 
had no idea ” 

But here the young lady paused suddenly ; for, turn- 
ing towards the offender, she saw she had made a mis- 
take. This dainty little maiden in cashmere and lace 
could hardly be a servant. 

“ I am very, very sorry,” Majella said, humbly. “ I 
did not think of any one being in the hall, and I could 
not see you, for I am blind. I heard Victor’s voice, and 

I Oh, Victor ! Victor !” as she caught the sound of 

the familiar footsteps, and the next moment her arms 
were about his neck, while the youiig man clasped her 
close to him, and kissed her in a way that made Gertrude 
Kingston wish her a thousand leagues away. Only for 
an instant, however, did the thought shine in her face, 
then, with apparent embarrassment, she stepped forward, 
and said eagerly, — 

‘‘ Pray, do forgive me ! It was so perfectly unpardon- 
able in me to make such a ridiculous mistake.” Then 
turning to Victor, she said, “ How could I forget this 
dear little girl of whom I have heard so much, and 
wanted so to meet ? Victor, will you not introduce me 
to your charming ward ?” 

“ Certainly. Mella, this is our friend and guest, Miss 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 1 3 

Gertrude Kingston, whose visit at Laurellawn, I trust, 
you will do your share towards making pleasant.” 

The great light of gladness faded from the blind girl’s 
face, and with a quiet dignity, in strange contrast with 
her former impulsiveness, she laid her small hand in the 
cold, slim fingers that somehow chilled and hurt her. 

VictoT, looking at the girls, thought he had never seen 
a fairer vision, though they reminded him more of mar- 
ble statues than living beings. 

“ Ah, there is the bell !” he exclaimed, with a vague 
sense of relief ; ” and here is my father, Miss Kingston, 
to take you in to dinner. Majella, will you accept the 
escort of your old guardian, and let him present you to 
our other guests ?” And taking her hand, he led her 
down the hall, introducing her to Dr. Vanberg, who shook 
hands without comment. Then turning towards a stately 
old man who stood in the dining-room door, he said, — 

“ Mella, I am sure you will be glad to welcome this 
gentleman, who was my grandfather’s friend, who has 
been my father’s friend, and who, I am proud to say, is 
my friend also. 

“Judge Kingston, this is my ward, Majella, whose story 
I have already told you.” 

Majella held out her hand with a frank smile. The 
judge took it in both his own, and Victor wondered why 
the formal words of greeting died away on his lips, while 
into his eyes there came a sudden gleam of mingled sur- 
prise and doubt. For a moment he gazed earnestly into 
the face raised to his ; then, stooping, kissed the smooth, 
white brow, and, without a word, passed into the dining- 
room, where Colonel Heathburn awaited him with an 
eager, questioning expression on his usually calm face. 

“ Oh, Victor, it is so good to have you here once 


M A JELL A; OR, 


II4 

more !” Majella whispered, when they were seated at the 
table. 

“ Is it really ?” Victor asked, with a smile. ‘‘ I was be- 
ginning to think you did not care at all. I half expected to 
find you at the bridge waiting for me. Then I was sure 
you would be on the piazza, ready to give me my first 
welcome home ; and when I found myself disappointed, 
I felt certain I should find you in the Snuggery ; but I 
only found a half withered rose-bud, which I put in my 
button-hole. I knew it was yours, for neither Louise 
nor Blanche ever wore that particular shade of pale pink 
roses.” 

“ But there were fresh ones in your room. Surely 
one of them would have been prettier.” 

“ Perhaps so ; but it would not have been yours,” Vic- 
tor answered ; and Gertrude, sitting opposite, wondered 
“ how that insignificant little creature” could “ blush so 
charmingly.” 

“Yes, I’m quite as fond of singing as ever, — that is, 
when it is smgmgj ]\xdgQ Kingston said, in reply to some 
question of Colonel Heathburn’s. “ But I have no pa- 
tience with the trilling, the screaming, and the shrieking 
of the present day. 

“ Now, there’s Gertrude. Sister Maria told me she 
had the finest voice of any of her pupils at the convent ; 
and yet I would as soon hear an owl screech as to listen 
to one of her popular songs. Why, I’d give all the Italian 
operas and French airs ever written just to hear ^ Annie 
Laurie,’ or ‘ Rock Me to Sleep, Mother,’ as I used to 
hear them in the long ago.” 

“ Well, my old friend, you shall hear them both, * with- 
out money and without price.’ We have a little old- 
fashioned girl here who sings in the good old-fashioned 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. II5 

way. So, I think, I can promise you a treat this even- 
ing.” 

” Oh, Colonel Heathburn ! Please don’t ask me to 
sing to-night, for I’d — I’d — so much rather hear Miss 
Kingston !” Majella exclaimed, with a little frightened 
gasp. 

“ We are all anxious to hear Miss Kingston, my dear, 
and I hope we may be able to persuade her to give us 
some music also. But, as her uncle wishes it, I am sure 
she will be glad to listen to one or two of your favorite 
songs.” 

” Oh, I shall ' be quite delighted,” cried that young 
lady, who, with her fluffy flaxen hair, her blue eyes, and 
rose-tinted cheeks, looked remarkably like a French 
doll. 

“ Pray, don’t refuse to sing on my account, dear Ma- 
jella. I am really quite fond of the simple old melodies, 
which, as they require no talent, are particularly suitable 
for uncultivated voices.” 

” Don’t worry about non-cultivation. Miss Kingston,” 
Harley cried. “ We are ready to trot out our little brown 
thrush, any day, against the finest plumed bird that ever 
sat on a perch, manufactured, stuffed, and wired up for 
the occasion.” 

Gertrude looked cross, but the color in her cheeks did 
not deepen ; a fact which Harley had already put down 
in the note-book of his brain. “ How could the awk- 
ward, red-haired creature say such sharp things ?” she 
wondered. 

“ But, surely, Majella, you will not refuse to sing for 
me on my very first evening home?” 

I will sing, if yoii wish it, Victor ?” she said, sim- 
ply; and, while night dropped her purple curtains across 


ii6 


M A JELL A; OR, 


the windows of the west, the blind girl sang the sweet 
old lays of the long ago ; while Mrs. Heathburn reclined 
on the sofa, Blanche watched the first lone star in the 
east, Dr. Vanberg appeared to be fast asleep, though 
actually calculating the probable amount of nervous 
force expended in vocal exertion, Louise and Gertrude 
talked in low voices at the farther end of the room, and 
Harley made sarcastic remarks to no one in particular. 

Victor leaned over the piano, and Judge Kingston sat 
by the open window, the great tears rolling slowly down 
his face and falling unheeded on his folded hands. 

In the dim light, Richard Heathburn watched his 
friend, till his own eyes grew misty. Time and place 
faded away. He was young again, leaning against a 
piano as Victor leaned now, while a taller, prouder, 
queenlier girl ran her white fingers over the keys ; her 
voice growing lower and softer, until it died away in a 
tremulous murmur, and she raised her dark eyes to his 
face, — their mischievous light had fled, leaving them true 
and tender. 

Madelon !” The name fell unconsciously from Judge 
Kingston’s lips ; and, without a moment’s hesitation, the 
master of Laurellawn answered, — 

“ Yes, — Madelon !” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


II7 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE STORY OF MADELON. 

“ Have you no recollection, no memory ever so faint, 
of the time before you came to Laurellawn ?” 

• “ It is all like a dream,” Majella answered, pushing the 
hair from off her forehead as if its silken waves clouded 
her brain. “ Sometimes it is so dim I cannot believe it 
at all ; then it is all quite real. It seems to me I lived 
far away across the ocean ; it must have been where the 
sunshine was always warm and the air was full of the 
fragrance of roses and lilies. 

“ I fancy it must have been an humble home. I re- 
member how the footsteps echoed on the bare floors. 
We must have been poor.” 

Who were w, Majella?” Judge Kingston asked, 
quickly. He and his niece had been at Laurellawn a 
week. During that time he had completely won the 
blind girl’s confidence, and he seemed to take a deep 
interest in her. They were alone in the Snuggery. Louise 
and Mr. Allingford, who had arrived the evening before, 
were out driving, while Blanche and Gertrude, accom- 
panied by Captain Norfield and Victor, were enjoying a 
canter among the hills. 

'“We,”’ Majella said, slowly; “that is what puzzles 
me. There was some one who took care of me, who 
used to call me, ah ! I cannot quite remember, though 
I often hear it in my dreams. Then we went on a long. 


ii8 


MAJELLA; OR, 


long journey, and I remember no more until I woke with 
Victor and the others.” 

“ And you think it was your mother who brought you 
here ?” 

“ No, I do not,” the girl answered, promptly. ” I do 
not believe my mother deserted me of her own free 
will.” 

” Majella, can you remember that woman’s name?” 
Judge Kingston asked, eagerly. 

” It seems to me it was Christine ; but I am not sure.” 

” You are certain it was not Madelon f 

” Madelon, — no, — and yet ” 

” And yet,” he repeated, leaning towards her. 

” The name seemed as though I had heard it long ago. 
Why do you ask, Mr. Kingston?” 

” Nothing, child, only your face is strangely like hers.” 

“ Who is Madelon ?” Majella asked, rising suddenly to 
her feet. 

“ She was my daughter.” 

” Your daughter? I never knew you had a daughter.” 

” I have had none for many years.” 

” Then she is dead !” very softly. 

” Dead, — yes. She was dead to me long years before 
they laid her in her grave.” 

” What — what do you mean ?” Majella asked, with a 
shudder. 

” Sit down here beside me, and, if you care to listen, I 
will tell you the story of Madelon, though it is very sad.” 

” If it will not pain you, I should greatly like to hear 
it.” 

Without further hesitation the judge began his story. 

” It is more than forty-five years since I left Oxford 
University. My father was an old-fashioned Virginian 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. II9 

gentleman, and had little faith in American colleges ; he 
therefore sent me to England to be educated. On leaving 
the university I went first to Italy, then to Greece, and 
finally to Egypt, where I spent several months. Return- 
ing to Paris, I found a letter from the family lawyer, 
announcing my father’s death, which had taken place 
some four months before. I hastened back to the old 
home, which was very desolate now, for my mother had 
died when I was a mere child. The only neighbors with 
whom we had ever been on intimate terms were a widow 
lady and her two children, who lived on the adjoining 
plantation. 

“ Madelon Reigh and I had been playmates in child- 
hood. She, too, was lonely, for her brother had recently 
married and moved to Richmond, and her mother was 
an invalid. 

“ A few months after my return to America Mrs. 
Reigh died. That autumn Madelon and I were married. 
Two years of happiness followed, — such happiness as 
few mortals are permitted to enjoy. Then my Southern 
flower drooped and faded. 

In vain I summoned the aid of the best physicians ; 
in vain I took her to sunny Italy and balmy Spain. I 
only brought her back to old Virginia to lay her among 
its green hills, where her childhood had been passed ; 
while I was left with my baby daughter, little Madelon. 

“ I could not stay on the plantation after that. Every 
flower in the garden, every shrub on the lawn, every 
article of furniture in the house, reminded me of my 
loss. I sold the old place, all except the plot by the 
river where Madelon was sleeping, and for ten years 
roamed over Europe with my little girl, who was all I 
had left on earth to love. 


120 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ One day in Paris I met John Heathburn, an old 
schoolmate, who urged me to join him in a mining specu- 
lation in the anthracite coal regions of northeastern 
Pennsylvania. 

“ I accepted his proposition, returned to America, and 
purchased a tract of land between Silver Lake and Lake 
Echo, and began to build a summer residence, which 
Madelon afterwards named Interlaken. Mr. Heathburn 
invited me to remain with him until my own house was 
completed, and for nearly a year Madelon and I made 
our home here at Laurellawn. 

“ I was often absent on business, leaving my daughter 
to the care of servants and the companionship of Dick 
Heathburn, a warm-hearted boy of fifteen, whom she 
coaxed, scolded, and petted by turns. 

“That fall Dick went to college and Madelon to a 
fashionable convent school, but they never forgot the 
summer they had spent together; and when, six years 
later, I brought home my daughter to be mistress of In- 
terlaken, Richard Heathburn, now master of Laurellawn, 
spent much of his time with us ; and one night they came 
to me in the library and told me of their love and asked 
my blessing; and I gave it willingly, for there was no 
man to whom I would sooner have intrusted the happi- 
ness of my child. 

“ But Madelon was too young to marry ; at least, her 
aunt, Henrietta Reigh, said so, and offered to take her 
to Europe for a year. I reluctantly gave my consent, 
and one May morning she stood beneath the apple-trees, 
whose pink and white blossoms fell around her as she 
bade Dick and me good-by forever. Let me hasten, for 
to me the story is very sad. She and her aunt spent the 
next winter in Paris. It was there she met the famous 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


I2I 


actor, Julian Moranno, a handsome, reckless fellow, whose 
heart was as black as his eyes, — a scoundrel and schemer, 
— Satan’s own tool, and a worthy servant of that heaven- 
denounced traitor. 

“ Ah, you are shocked, my child ; but it is true, quite 
true. One night, as I sat in this very room, two letters 
were brought to me. One was from Mrs. Reigh, announc- 
ing the elopement of my daughter with the Spanish 
actor. The other was from Madelon herself, informing 
me of her marriage, craving my pardon for her diso- 
bedience, and begging me to ask Richard Heathburn to 
forgive her for the wrong she had done him. 

“ Then, I think, I must have gone mad. I cursed that 
shallow society woman who had taken my innocent child 
into that whirlpool of shame and wickedness ! I cursed 
the black-souled villain who had stolen my ‘one ewe 
lamb !’ I cursed her for her folly and deceit and her 
heartless cruelty to the man who loved her !” 

“ Oh, hush ! hush !” Majella whispered, her face as 
white as the dress she wore. “ It is all so terrible !” 

“Yes, it was terrible!” the old man answered, his 
voice hoarse and broken. 

“ May God forgive me for the wicked words I spoke 
that night. I do not remember all that happened after 
that. It was like a dream, — a black, terrible dream. 

“ Richard Heathburn went to Paris and to the Grand 
Opera, and, sitting there in that vast audience, he saw 
Madelon’s first appearance before the public; saw her 
play her part in the dark tragedy. 

“ Twelve years later, passing through France, I chanced 
to hear a fellow-traveller mention a fire which had de- 
stroyed an old place belonging to an actor named Mo- 
ranno. I recognized the name at once, and determined 

9 


122 


M A JELL A; OR, 


to visit the site of Madelon’s home. I found a heap of 
blackened ruins, surrounded by a neglected garden, over- 
run with roses. In one corner was a grave, at whose 
head stood a wooden cross, with the single word Made- 
Ion carved upon it. 

“ The village people told me she had died nearly three 
years before, with only an old servant, named Jacques, 
and his daughter in the house; for her husband was in 
Paris, or Madrid, or Berlin, — they were not certain which. 
When the sisters at the convent heard of her illness, 
they went to offer their assistance, but they only found 
a new-made grave in the garden, and old Jacques sitting 
in the sunshine. 

“‘Yes, she is dead,’ he said, in answer to their ques- 
tions ; ‘ and I buried her there among the roses, as she 
wished.’ 

“Ah, Majella, the story is too sad. You are weeping! 
And here comes Blanche, looking as fresh as her favorite 
lilies. 

“ Dry your tears, child ; it is better so, — far better. 
Standing by her grave, I thanked God who had given 
rest at last to'my poor, mistaken Madelon !’’ 


CHAPTER XV. 

UNDER-CURRENTS. 

“ Oh, Mella I I’ve such charming news. We are going 
to have another visitor. You can’t guess who?’’ cried 
Blanche, entering the Snuggery in a little flutter of excite- 
ment. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 23 

Then there’s no use of trying,” Majella replied, smil- 
ing through her tears. 

I should say it must be some spruce young student, 
to judge from your face,” said the judge, who was one of 
those delightful people never too old to share in the joys 
or sorrows of youth. 

“ No, indeed ; it’s no gentleman at all. It’s Miss Retta 
Grey.” 

“ Why ! how is that ?” Majella asked in surprise. 
“ Why should Retta come here to stay when her home 
is scarcely two miles away.” 

“ That requires a brief explanation,” said Blanche, seat- 
ing herself in the window. “ You know Captain Norfield 
and I called at the ‘ Lilacs’ last evening. Well, Mrs. Grey 
told us they were going to start for England day after 
to-morrow on a business trip, — something about a will, 
leaving a large amount of money to them, which some 
one is trying to break, — the willy I mean. She said 
Retta was not able to endure such a long journey. She 
has never fully recovered from that dreadful attack of 
brain-fever through which Mrs. Norfield nursed her so 
faithfully, and that she was going to try to have her 
board at the minister’s. I didn’t say anything about it 
then, but when I got home I told mamma about it, and 
asked her to invite her here. Mamma objected. You 
know she does not quite approve of Retta, though I 
think her just lovely. Then I told Victor how I’d set my 
heart on having her here,*and asked him to help me. He 
said he’d arrange it, and I suppose he must have coaxed 
mamma over, for this morning he said it was all right; 
so I stopped at the ‘ Lilacs’ and invited Retta to spend the 
summer with us. Of course she accepted the invitation. 
Is it not delightful ? She is the gayest, happiest girl in 


124 


M A JELL A; OR, 


the world ! Just like a rose. The whole room seems 
sweeter and brighter the moment she enters it.” 

“Well, well! if Miss Grey- is such a charming young 
lady, I should almost think you little girls would be 
afraid she would steal away all the favorite young gentle- 
men,” remarked Judge Kingston. 

“ Oh, she won’t have to steal them 1 Everybody is 
expected to fall in love with Retta,” Majella said, care- 
lessly. And the. judge did not notice the momentary 
doubt in Blanche’s blue eyes as Captain Norfield, passing 
the window, tossed a spray of laurel blossoms in her 
lap. 

Would it make any difference to her ? Would he be 
just as nice and attentive to her when this girl, with the 
dark southern face, her merry laughter, and her impul- 
sive ways, came to Laurellawn ? Was it true, as she had 
fancied, that he had accepted her mother’s invitation 
simply to be near the girl he had rescued from death 
that March night, three months before? Blanche could 
not tell ; but her nature was too bright and sunny, and 
her affection for Retta too sincere, to permit more than 
a passing thought to shadow her face. Then taking 
Majella’s hand she led the way to the chamber next her 
own, which was to be fitted up as nearly as possible like 
Retta’s room at the “ Lilacs.” 

One bright afternoon, a week later, Majella sat under 
the great maple-tree that shadowed the lodge, while Mrs. 
Greythorn hulled strawberries by her side, 

“ Help yourself, dearie,” the kind-hearted woman said, 
as she handed her a basin of the luscious fruit. 

“ Thank you,” said Majella, with a smile ; “ I’m fond of 
strawberries.” 

“ Be you, now ? Well, that’s lucky, for there’s plenty 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 25 

on ’em this year, and they’re dreadful good for a body’s 
stomach,” 

Then, after a moment’s pause, “ I s’pose you’re perty 
busy up at the Lawn, with all them fine visitors you’ve 
got?” 

“Yes; the house seems full of guests. Sometimes I 
grow weary of the music and laughter, and the ceaseless 
flow of conversation ; then I run away down here, where 
it is always cool and restful.” 

“ La, child, you’re as welcome as the birds and sun- 
shine.” Then, taking up another box of berries, she 
asked, “ How does Mrs. Heathburn stand it this hot 
weather ?” 

“ She is very well for her. I think it is because her 
mind is so completely occupied with preparations for the 
wedding.” 

“ The wedding ? Oh, yes ! Has the day been set 
yet ?” 

“ I believe it is to be the thirty-first of July.” 

“ Saturday. That’s a dreadful onlucky day. Some- 
thing’s likely to happen to the groom, — though in this 
case I don’t s’pose that would make any difference. It’s 
the money ^ not the man, she’s after, — beggin’ your pardon 
for speakin’ the truth so plainly.” 

Majella made no answer ; in her heart she knew that 
the shrewd old woman was right. 

“ I didn’t know but they’d have a double weddin’ 
while they was about -it,” remarked Mrs. Greythorn, 
putting an unusually large berry in Majella’s basin. 

“A double wedding !” the girl repeated. “ Why, who 
else should be married ?” 

“ La, child ! I don’t know nothin’ about it, ’ceptin’ 
what the neighbors say ; and mebby they don’t know 


126 


MAJELLA; OR, 


nothin’, neither. I should s’pose he’d tell you first of 
anybody, if there’s anything to tell. He alius seemed 
dreadful fond of you.” 

Who ?” 

“ Why, Victor, of course.” 

“ Who is Victor going to marry?” Majella asked, with 
a strange throbbing of her heart. 

“ Goodness, miss ! I don’t know as anybody ; but they 
do say as how he’s been a trapsin’ aroun’ with that forrin 
brung up girl to beat all natur.” 

‘‘You mean Miss Kingston.” 

“ Yes, that’s her name ; and she’s a stuck-up creatur’, 
too, — won’t even speak to a poor old body like me. I 
don’t mind tellin’ you, Miss Melly, — she ain’t the sort of 
lady I’d pick out for Mr. Victor. As my poor boy Jack 
would say, they ain’t similtaneous in their tastes.” 

Majella did not even smile at the mistake ; as, with a 
view towards changing the conversation, she asked, — 

“ How is Jack ? Have you heard from him recently?” 

“We got a letter t’other evenin’. He’s all right; but 
Nellie’s dreadful bad. Poor girl ! I’m afeared she’s not 
long for this world ; an’ I don’t know what’ll become of 
Jack, away off on the other edge of the earth, with nobody 
to darn his socks or take care of him. What ! you aren’t 
agoin’ already ?” as Majella rose. “ Do let me give you 
some of my Jersey milk afore you start. That ’ere yaller 
critter beats anything in the cow-line I ever see.” And 
before her visitor could object, the lodge-keeper’s wife 
bustled away to the cellar, from which she soon re- 
turned with an old-fashioned blue bowl brimming over 
with cool, rich milk. 

“ Excus’ the dish, dearie,” she said, as she handed it 
to Majella. “ Them ’ere glasses of mine don’t hold a 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


127 


spoonful, so I jest got this old bowl. Jack used to 
drink out of it when he was nothin’ but a baby; and, 
sometimes. Miss Lou would run away from the Lawn, 
and come down here to play with him ; and, when they 
got tired, they’d sit there on the door-step, and I’d give 
’em this bowl full of milk to drink between ’em. 

“Ah, Miss Melly ! Many’s the changes there’s been 
since then ! Miss Lou’s goin’ to marry that man, old 
enough to be her father, just because he’s rich and 
pop’lar ; and Jack’s gone off to Ingey to teach the black 
heathens, and break his heart, for all I know. Well, well ; 
I s’pose the good Lord knows what’s best for us ! But 
if I had things to manage, ’pears to me they’d be a sight 
different” 

“And if I had them to manage,” Majella thought, as 
she walked slowly homeward, holding in her hand a 
small rope, the other end of which was attached to a 
collar about old Rover’s neck. The faithful dog was 
her almost constant companion, trotting sedately by her 
side, guiding her uncertain feet along the smoothest 
paths, shielding her from danger as carefully as could a 
human friend. 

“ Oh, Rover, Rover,” she cried, sinking down on the 
grass by the bridge and hiding her face on his shaggy 
side. “ Is it true ? Will he marry that cold, proud girl, 
whom, try as I will, I cannot like ? I know it is selfish 
and ungrateful and wicked; but I believe I shall hate 
the woman who steals Victor away from me.” 

“ Tableau. Dog-days. And you’ve had yours, old 
Rover; so just walk off. If anybody has a right to com- 
fort Majella, it is I,” and, seating himself beside the 
weeping girl, Harley drew her head down upon his 
shoulder. 


128 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“Are you crying for your sins or mine, Midget?” he 
asked, and, though his voice was merry, the large hand 
that smoothed her hair had something soothing in its 
very touch. 

“I — I Oh, Harley! Td no idea any one was here. 

What a baby you will think me ; but I really couldn’t 
help it ! Mrs. Greythorn told me that Nellie was sick.” 

“ Well, I always knew you were a tender-hearted little 
thing, but I didn’t suppose you were crying your eyes 
out about poor Nellie Greythorn over the sea. I thought, 

perhaps ” And Harley finished the sentence with a 

low whistle. 

“ Where is Retta and the others,” Majella asked, sit- 
ting erect, and pushing back her tumbled hair. “ I 
thought you were playing croquet.” 

“ So we were ; but when the game was over, I found 
myself de trop. So I skipped out. Norfield is telling 
Retta and Blanche some of his hair-breadth escapes, and 
they are trying to beat each other at looking interested. 
By Jove ! Mella, I shouldn’t be surprised if those two 
girls fight a duel yet.” 

“ Nonsense, Harley I Why don’t you take care of 
Retta yourself, and leave Blanche and the captain en- 
tirely to each other ? I always thought you’d make a 
splendid couple ! And, you remember, you told me 
once you thought ‘ her the prettiest girl in America.’ ” 

“ I beg your pardon, Mella. I made one exception.” 

“ Oh, that was merely to save my feelings. But, really, 
don’t you think Retta perfectly splendid ?” 

“Yes, to talk to and flirt with; but, in getting up an 
establishment for life, she’s not just the style of partner 
I should choose.” 

“ You’re too particular. But, perhaps, if you would 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


129 


tell me some of the attributes necessary for this charm- 
ing creature to possess, I might be able to help you.” 

No,” Harley said, slowly, as if conquering a sudden 
impulse, “ it’s not my turn yet. I’ve always been used 
to second choice. Let His Mightiness select the favored 

lady who is to be mistress of Laurellawn, and then 

Well, it will be my turn to go fishing.” 

“Where is Victor?” Dr. Vanberg asked, as Harley 
and Majella came up the steps. 

“ Out driving with Miss Kingston, as usual. Do you 
wish to see him ?” 

“ Merely to show him an article in reference to a new 
electrical invention.” 

“ Well, doctor, if you know of any invention, electrical 
or otherwise, that v^ill keep flaxen hair frizzed in damp 
weather, I would advise you to read it to the lady, also. 
I am sure she would be grateful for any information on 
the subject,” and Harley sauntered away to the stable, 
whistling “ The Spanish Cavalier,” while Majella went 
slowly upstairs, wondering if the hard old doctrines 
were true, that “ the iniquity of the fathers is visited on 
the children to the third and fourth generation,” and, if 
so, what terrible sin her ancestors had committed, that 
she should be blind, nameless, and forgotten ? 


130 


MAJELLA; ORy 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TELLING MELLA. 

Ninnette, you may get one of the dresses Victor 
brought me from Paris. The pink one, please, I shall 
want the white to wear at Louise’s wedding. Do my 
hair up high, and fasten it with that spray of diamond 
forget-me-nots Colonel Heathburn gave me last Christ- 
mas. Roses ? No, I do not care for any flowers. I 
shall simply wear that diamond cross Victor sent from 
Germany. I mean to be dressed to-night, — dressed as 
well as any one in the drawing-room. What do you 
suppose they will say when they behold the plain little 
caterpillar suddenly developed into a regular butterfly 
of fashion ?” 

“ If they tell the truth, Miss Mella, they’ll say you’re 
lovely. You’re always that, but to-night it’s different, 
somehow. You look like a princess, — a queen ; some- 
thing grand and high.” 

“ Thank you, Ninnette !” Majella said, gently, and 
sat down by the open window, where the breath of 
the dew-damped flowers floated in on the evening 
wind. 

Down in the drawing-room quite a little crowd was 
assembled. Retta Grey was playing a popular waltz, 
while Captain Norfield leaned against the piano and 
bent his fair head to catch her gay words. 

Half hidden in the draperies of a window, Blanche 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. I3I 

Heathburn watched them with a troubled look on her 
fair, sweet face. 

At the farther end of the room Victor and Miss 
Kingston were holding a book of Italian engravings, 
although Colonel Heathburn noticed that neither of 
them looked at the pictures. Gertrude seemed unusu- 
ally bright. There was a half-scornful smile on her lips, 
a gleam of satisfaction in her pale blue eyes, and a posi- 
tive ring of triumph in her voice. Victor, on the con- 
trary, appeared nervous, a most unheard of thing for that 
self-possessed young gentleman. He kept glancing to- 
wards the door, and once, when his companion asked him 
if he did not think Italy the most beautiful land in the 
world, he answered, promptly, — 

“Yes, I would much rather hear her sing than 
Retta Grey. Song is as natural to Majella as to a 
bird.” 

At that moment the door opened, and Harley entered 
the room. With one hand resting lightly on his arm, 
her head thrown slightly backward, and her beautiful 
dress of pink satin and black lace falling gracefully about 
her slender figure, Majella moved slowly down the room 
as though she were an acknowledged queen of fashion, 
instead of a blind nobody, a dependent on Victor Heath- 
burn’s charity. Even Gertrude uttered an exclamation 
of surprise, while Retta sprang to her feet, exclaiming, — 

“ Hail, Titania, — queen of the fairies ! But where is 
Oberon and your elfish band ?” 

“ He is here !’J Majella answered, gayly, with a slight 
bow towards Harley, who evidently felt the honor of his 
position. 

“ A song, fair queen ! We crave a song !” cried Penn 
Norfield, ever ready to echo Retta. 


132 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Without hesitation, Majella seated herself at the piano. 
She chose that old, old song, The Bridge.” Her listen- 
ers had heard it — 

“ How often, oh, how often ! 

In the days that had gone by ^ 

and yet it seemed to them never as the blind girl sang 
it that summer night. Slowly, almost unconsciously, 
Victor rose from his seat by Miss Kingston, and moved 
across the room until he stood beside the singer. As 
the last notes died away, he bent and whispered, — 

“ Mella, will you come out on the piazza ? There is 
something I wish to tell you,” 

“ Certainly,” she answered, and, without heeding the 
applause of the others, arose, and together they went out 
into the moonlight. 

To and fro, past the vine-wreathed pillars, they walked, 
while Victor spoke of the flowers, the moonlight, and 
the summer, but never mentioned the cause for which he 
had brought her there. 

“You told me there was something you wished to say 
to me,” Majella said, at last, pausing to inhale the fra- 
grance of the tuberoses, a great bed of which grew under 
the dining-room window. 

“ Yes,” he answered, slowly, “ there is something I 
wish to tell you, but I hardly know how to begin.” 

Majella did not help him. She only waited, leaning 
against the pillar, her white hands folded on the rail. A 
fleecy cloud drifted over the moon and left her face in 
shadow. 

Victor looked at her, hesitated, stammered. The bril- 
liant conversationalist was embarrassed. For almost the 
first time he felt at a loss for words. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 33 

“ Majella,” he said, with a sudden burst of recklessness, 
“ I’m going to be married.” 

The call of the whippoorwill down by the brook was 
the only sound that broke the silence. 

“ I’m going to marry Miss Kingston.” The whippoor- 
will’s mate answered farther up the valley. 

“ Louise has consented to postpone her marriage until 
the last of August, when we shall have a double wedding.” 

The moon came out from the shadow and revealed the 
blind girl’s face as white as if carved in marble. 

“ What is it, Mella ? What is the matter ?” he asked, 
in surprise. 

“ I think the roses are too sweet,” she murmured, 
faintly, and he led her to the other end of the piazza. 

“ Now, have you nothing to say to me ?” he asked, a 
little impatiently. “ No congratulations to offer ? Are 
you not glad ?” 

“lam glad for whatever makes you happy, Victor,” 
she answered, quietly. 

“ But this will make you happy, too,” he cried, eagerly. 
“ I thought of that as well as of myself. Louise will 
soon leave you. We cannot keep Blanche always, and 
you would be very lonely in the old home with only 
mother as a companion. Gertrude is very fond of you. 
I have often heard her say so. She will do everything in 
her power to make your life pleasant. We shall take 
you to Europe next summer to see the great German 
oculist of whom Dr. Vanberg spoke last evening. 
Majella,” — as she made no reply, — “ I have sometimes 
feared you do not like Gertrude. Is it true ?” 

“ Yes, it is true,” she answered, sadly. “ I do not like 
Miss Kingston, and she does not like me.” 

“ Hush !” he exclaimed, almost harshly. “ You have no 


134 


MAJELLA; OR, 


right to say that. It is a mere fancy; a childish preju- 
dice, which must be overcome. You must learn to love 
Gertrude for my sake, if not for her own.” 

“ Victor,” the girl said, and there was a ring of passion 
in her voice, “ I know what you have done for me, and 
I am grateful. I would sacrifice my whole life to make 
you happy; but not even for your sake can I love the 
girl who, if she could, would send me to the poor-house 
to-morrow, condemning me to a life of pauperism, 
poverty, and shame !” And without another word she 
sped away, leaving her guardian almost paralyzed with 
astonishment. 

That .child !” he muttered, at last ; then faint and 
vague, like a voice in the distance, came the whisper, 
“ She is not a child ; she is a woman ; and you are break- 
ing her heart.” 

In the drawing-room, the evening did not pass as 
pleasantly as usual. Gertrude waited in vain for Victor’s 
return, and at length stole quietly into the conservatory. 

Blanche slipped away on pretence of a sick headache, 
and Retta, who had seen Majella enter the hall, soon 
followed. Up-stairs, she knocked at the blind girl’s 
door, but received no reply. Passing on, she heard 
Victor walking restlessly to and fro in his room. With 
a little exclamation of disgust, she turned to her own 
chamber, but was arrested on the threshold by the sound 
of weeping in the next room. Without waiting to knock, 
she entered and saw Blanche Heathburn kneeling by the 
window, her golden hair falling over her shoulders, her 
face resting on her folded hands, and her slight form 
trembling with emotion. 

“Blanche, what is it? What has happened?” she 
cried, in terror. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


35 


“ Nothing. It is of no consequence ! What right 
have you to rush in on me like this ?” the girl exclaimed, 
rising to her feet with an attempt at dignity. 

“ Forgive me, dear!” Retta answered, quietly. “ I did 
not mean to startle you. I thought, perhaps, you were 
hurt or in trouble, and I might be able to help you. 
Won’t you tell me what is the matter?” 

“ I cannot. Oh, Retta, I cannot! You would not 
understand. Everybody loves you ; you are so gay and 
beautiful, and I’m just a faded out little thing, whom no 
one cares much about.” 

“ Why, Elanche ! You have always been the house- 
hold pet, and every one is so fond of you.” 

Yes, just as they are fond of a delicate flower or a 
rare bit of china. But they do not care to talk with me, 
to be near me. I don’t believe half a dozen remarks were 
addressed to me this evening, and some one was speaking 
to you constantly. Captain Norfield never left your side. 
He did not seem to realize there was any one else in the 
room.” 

Retta Grey stepped back with a half-audible exclama- 
tion. She understood it all now ; her suspicions were true. 

“ Blanche,” she said, in a cold, stern voice, ” you love 
Penn Norfield, and that is why you have treated me so 
strangely for the last few days. You look upon me as 
a rival. You think I am trying to win him away from 
you, and you are jealous.” 

” No — no — I am not !” the girl cried, passionately. 
That would be useless. I knew from the first how it 
would end, and I do not blame you. No one could 
help loving him ; but it is so hard to bear ! I know it is 
foolish, but sometimes, when I feel so weak and strange, 

I think, perhaps, I shall die while still young ; and if I 


M A JELL A; OR, 


136 

should, don’t feel sorry for me, Retta. I’m sure it would 
be easier to sleep quietly under the daisies than to live 
till I am old, with my heart always aching as it does to- 
night.” 

The anger died out of Retta’s eyes, the color from her 
cheeks. She looked at the thin, white hands, the slender 
form, and the pale face raised so pleadingly to hers. Yes, 
she must make the sacrifice. Cost what it would, she 
must not shadow the path of this fair young girl, who 
really seemed too frail for earth. She was strong and she 
could suffer ; but, oh, it was hard, cruelly hard ! She 
had given all her heart to the handsome young officer, 
and, although no words had been spoken, she knew he 
loved her in return ; and now the dreams of the summer 
must be broken; the golden hopes of the future must be 
buried and forgotten. Life would never be quite the 
same to her again, and yet she did not hesitate. Retta 
Grey was not the girl to shrink from self-sacrifice. 

‘^Blanche,” she said, and her voice was very calm, “it 
is all over. After to-night you need never look upon 
me as your rival. Never fear that I shall try to win 
Penn Norfield, for I shall not. All my influence shall be 
cast on your side. He shall learn to love you ; shall 
make you his wife ; and you shall both be happy. I 
have said it! Retta Grey never yet broke her word.” 

She moved away through the moonlight, leaving 
Blanche in a maze of wonder. 

If she fought a battle that night, she must have won 
the victory, for her face was very bright next morning 
when she met Penn Norfield in the hall. 

“ Ah, Miss Retta,” he exclaimed, coming eagerly for- 
ward, “ I’ve been waiting to see you for the last five 
minutes.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 37 

“ Indeed ! What an eternity ! And your hair is still 
untouched by frost.” 

“Now don’t say sharp things; I never can endure 
sarcasm before breakfast. Besides, I’ve a plan I wish to 
explain to you.” 

“ In regard to what ?” Retta asked, as they strolled 
out upon the piazza. 

“ Our picnic to-day. I felt sure you would not enjoy 
going with the crowd. It will be so hot and dusty ; and 
I’ve arranged for a gallop over the hills. I’ll take Vic- 
tor’s favorite White King, and you’ll manage Cyclone, of 
course.” 

“Scarcely; for I do not intend to go.” 

“ Not go ? What do you mean ? I thought you 
were the one who proposed the picnic ?” 

“ Perhaps .1 was. Women always have the privilege 
of changing their minds, you know, and I have changed 
mine. However, I have a plan which I hope will suit 
you just as well.” 

“ What is it?” he asked, brightening suddenly. 

“ I want you to take the phaeton and drive over to the 
lake with Blanche. She is suffering from a severe 
headache, and will be quite ill if she has to ride in that 
crowded carriage.” 

“ But — Miss Retta ” 

“ Excuse me. I had almost forgotten I was to take 
some flowers to Mella ;” and, breaking off a spray of roses, 
she entered the hall just as Blanche appeared, looking 
like her favorite white lilies, in her white wrapper and 
pale blue ribbons. On reaching her own room, Retta 
tossed the roses on the table, and brushed away some- 
thing that looked like a tear, as she exclaimed, im- 
patiently, — 


10 


138 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Don’t put on airs, my dear ; you were never meant 
for a martyr. My life is not all spoiled yet. The stage 
is left, and henceforth that shall be my field of action. 
So good-by to love and lovers forever. Life was in- 
tended to be a comedy. There’s no use trying to make 
it out a tragedy.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

BEFORE THE BRIDAL. 

Quickly, noiselessly, the days sped by. The summer 
had reached and passed its prime. There were yellow 
leaves beneath the trees and faded roses in the garden. 
The breeze had lost its balmy freshness -and the sky 
something of its June-time blue. Still, the world was 
very beautiful that August afternoon, as Louise stood on 
the shore of Fairy Lake and watched the waves creep 
lazily over the sand. It was not of them she was think- 
ing. She did not even see the broken lily-bud which 
drifted up the cove. Her thoughts were far away, in a 
land where the sunlight gleams on the broad leaves of 
the palms and the blue Ganges flows on to its grave in 
the sea. In imagination she stood in the glow of the 
southern evening, and as the sun sank beneath the bright 
waters of the Indian Ocean its last rays fell on a new- 
made grave, where only an hour before they had laid 
Nellie Greythorn to rest. By the grave stood a man 
bronzed by the sun and wind ; yet as he raised his sad 
eyes she knew it was Jack Greythorn, who only a little 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 39 

more than a year before had knelt on the very spot where 
she stood, pleading for her love, her pity. 

A very sad year it had been to the missionary. 
Slowly, but surely, like a flower transplanted from its 
native heath, his gentle wife had drooped and faded. 
When at last the letter came, and the old lodge-keeper 
tried to read it, the words seemed hidden in a mist, and 
he could only make out how Nellie had kissed her baby 
and fallen asleep in the still Indian evening, and had not 
wakened in the morning. 

Colonel Heathburn had told the news at luncheon. 
All had expressed their sympathy for the lonely man and 
the helpless babe, whom they said would surely die, with 
no mother to care for it, all except Louise. She had sat 
quite silent ; but, when the others retired from the table, 
she stole away to the lake, to think it all over again. 

Just once more she would live over the hopes and the 
dreams of her girlhood. Then “ let the dead past bury 
its dead.” 

The morrow was the day set for the double wedding. 
The dresses of snowy satin and lace had reached home 
the day before. They, together with the diamonds, were 
waiting their fair wearers. 

The wedding was not to be as grand an affair as the 
villagers had supposed or the brides had wished. Victor 
had managed it, — he managed everything at Laurellawn. 
He hated large weddings, he said, with their display, 
their excitement, and their sham. They were vulgar, in 
bad taste, — a positive relic of barbarism. 

With a sigh of disappointment Mrs. Keathburn gave 
up her dream of making a sensation, and consoled her- 
self with the thought that her daughter was to marry a 
millionaire, and her son a lady at whose feet more than 


140 MAJELLA ; OR, 

one aristocrat had laid his heart, his hand, and his 
title. 

In the dim twilight Louise turned from the lake, whose 
waters had grown dull and gray as the haze, which all 
day long had rested on the hill-tops, floated downward 
and spread over the valley. 

She walked slowly homeward between the willows, 
whose branches bent and swayed in the damp south 
wind. 

“ Not a very fair promise for a wedding-day,” she mur- 
mured, as she paused a moment on the steps. “ But that 
is of little consequence. Sunshine and blue sky are all 
very well where there is love and hope and happiness ; 
but to-morrow’s farce can be played without them. I’m 
glad it is so near, for Gertrude’s sake more than for my. 
own. If it were two weeks later, I fear she would not be 
the bride. It is strange what an influence that blind child 
exerts over Victor ! Sometimes I almost believe that he 
loves her better than the woman who is to be his wife. 
Ah, well, Majella, your course is nearly run. Things 
will be very different when Gertrude Kingston is mistress 
here.” 

The night came dark and starless. The wind rose and 
sobbed among the trees. Now and then a great drop of 
rain fell on the blind girl’s face as she leaned from the 
open window, vainly trying to cool her burning brow. 
How it throbbed ! or was the pain all in her heart ? She 
could not tell. She only knew that in all her young life 
she had never dreamed it possible to suffer as she was 
suffering now. 

She could not sit quietly in the drawing-room listen- 
ing to Mr. Allingford’s weak voice and Gertrude’s shrill 
tones, so she had stolen away, fancying no one noticed. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


I4I 

Half-way up the stairs she heard a well-known footstep 
following. As she reached the landing, Victor laid his 
hand upon her shoulder and asked, Are you going to 
your room, Majella ?” 

“ Yes,” she answered, hastily. My head aches a little, 
and I am tired. Good-night, Victor.” He took her cold 
hand in his, but did not speak. 

“ I thought it would be better to rest,” she continued, 
with a brave attempt at a smile. “ You know I must be 
bright for to-morrow.” 

“ Yes, for to-morrow,” he echoed. Then, stooping, he 
kissed her, as he whispered, “ Good-by, Majella !” 

She could still feel that kiss upon her lips, still hear 
the echo of that one word so fatally true. It was good- 
by, — good-by forever ! Yet how could she say it ? How 
could she give him up ? He had been the fairy prince 
of her childhood’s dreams, the golden ideal of her girl- 
hood’s hopes, the one being in whom she had found no 
fault. And she had dared to love him. She whispered 
it in the darkness, and her face grew crimson with shame, 
— she, a blind, nameless creature, over whose birth and 
early life hung a black, unsolvable mystery. Surely God 
had made a mistake when he gave her a heart. She had 
no right to the hopes, the dreams, and the loves of earth. 
She was a blighted flower, a poor imperfect being, to be 
pitied or scorned, as the case might be. People might 
protect and care for her. They might even admire her 
talents and praise her progress ; but the world would be 
horrified at the thought of Victor Heathburn marrying 
his blind ward. Her only life lay in the legend “ of a 
love beyond the grave.” 

“ O Christ !” she cried, stretching out her hands as if 
to a visible presence, “ Thou who stilled the waves of 


142 


M A JELL A; OR, 


stormy Galilee, who heeded the leper’s cry and the blind 
man by the way, come and help me now, for I cannot 
bear it all alone. Tenderer than a mother’s caress, more 
soothing than an angel’s touch, a cool light hand seemed 
to rest upon her brow, and, as her head sank on the 
window-sill, Majella felt that her prayer had been an- 
swered. 

How long she knelt there she did not know. She was 
wakened from her half slumber by the sound of voices 
from the adjoining room, which had been assigned to 
Thomas Allingford. 

Yes, Jasper,” that gentleman was saying, “ I feel ter- 
ribly nervous to-night. I can’t account for it, but I have 
a presentiment of coming evil.” 

“ Why don’t you take a dose of chloral, uncle, and get 
a good night’s rest. You ought to look your best to- 
morrow, else your pretty bride may be sick of her bar- 
gain;” and the banker’s nephew laughed lightly. He 
was a reckless young fellow of twenty-six, who the world 
remarked with a shake of its head was going to lose a 
fortune by this ridiculous marriage. 

“ Yes, yes, boy; that’s what I’ll do. Just fix it forme, — 
can’t you ? Be careful to get the right bottle, — the one 
with the yellow paper about it. Don’t give me too much ; 
it’s dangerous stuff, you know.” 

“Oh, I understand all about that. You needn’t fear. 
’Twould be a shocking thing if you forgot to wake up 
on your wedding-day. Now wouldn’t it ? Quite break 
Miss Heathburn’s heart, no doubt; she’s so desperately 
fond of you.” 

“ We will not discuss Miss Heathburn’s feelings, Jasper. 
After all, they are of little consequence. She’s going to 
marry me, and that’s enough. I shall have the hand- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 43 

somest wife in New York City. Well, if you have that 
ready, pass it over. Isn’t that a rather large dose ?” 

Just medium. I hope you’ll sleep soundly. Good- 
night, Uncle Tom.” 

Good-night, my boy.” 

The door opened and closed, and Majella wondered 
vaguely why Jasper Allingford made so little noise as he 
passed down the hall to his own apartment. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A DARK DAY. 

Majella was awakened next morning by Aunt Katie’s 
heavy step, as the old nurse entered the room carrying a 
tray, on which was arranged a tempting' lunch. 

“ I’ve brought you a bit to eat, Miss Mella,” she said, 
as she set the tray on the stand. ” It will be a long time 
before them weddiners get ready for breakfast. La ! 
child, how white you be! You don’t look as if you’d 
slept a wink I” 

“ I did not rest very well, aunty. It was late when I 
went to bed, and the wind made such strange noises I 
could not sleep. What kind of a day is it?” 

The very worst kind, dearie. It rains pitchforks. The 
wind blows right from the east, and the sky don’t look 
as though the sun would ever shine again. It’s a bad 
morning for a wedding; but no wonder. The Lord ain’t 
going to send sunshine and blue sky for such matches.” 

” What time is it. Aunt Katie ?” 

Seven o’clock, child.” 


144 


M A JELL A; OR, 


“Ah, and the wedding ceremony is at eight. Please call 
Ninnette. I’ll dress at once. Thanks for the lunch, aunty.” 

Half an hour later the little French maid exclaimed, 
as she smoothed out a refractoiy fold of . the dainty white 
dress, “There, Miss Mella, you’re ready, and if you were 
the bride herself you couldn’t look lovelier !” 

“ I haven’t any flowers yet,” Majella said, thoughtfully. 

“ So you haven’t. What shall I get you ?” 

“ It doesn’t matter. Roses, pansies, anything. Ah, 
some one is knocking.” 

The maid opened the door and revealed Victor Heath- 
burn standing on the threshold, the rain dripping from 
his coat, his hands wet and soiled, and his face flushed 
with exercise. 

“Good gracious, Mr. Victor!” she exclaimed, in as- 
tonishment, “ where did you come from ?” 

“ Mella,” Victor said, without noticing the maid’s ques- 
tion, and stepping quickly to the blind girl’s side, “ I’ve 
been to the lake and gathered these lilies. I want you to 
wear them in memory of the happy days we’ve spent 
together.” 

“ Thank you, Victor,” she said, quietly. She took the 
flowers and allowed their long slender stems to coil about 
her wrist. “ But,” she continued, as the door closed 
behind him, “ after to-day I shall never, never care to 
wear water-lilies again.” 

It was nearly eight o’clock; A select company of 
guests, most of whom were from out of town, were 
assembled in the large double parlors. The rooms had 
been darkened at Gertrude’s request. 

“ It is so much more elegant to have artificial light, 
you know,” she explained to Victor, who replied, with a 
low laugh, that it was certainly more appropriate. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


145 


The air was heavy with the fragrance of flowers and 
oppressively warm. A deep hush of expectancy rested 
on the little company. 

Three minutes to eight, two minutes, one minute. 
Eight o’clock ! The silver-voiced timepiece in the li- 
brary and the slow-toned clock in the hall proclaimed that 
the hour had come. Still the bridal party lingered. The 
guests grew impatient. What did it mean ? Victor 
Heathburn had never been known to be late before. 
Meanwhile the object of their thought paced restlessly 
up and down his room. 

“ Allingford,” he said, turning to the young gentle- 
man, who leaned against the window apparently much 
interested in the landscape, “ isn’t your uncle ready yet ?” 

“ I really don’t know. I haven’t seen uncle this morn- 
ing.” 

“ That is strange. I thought he would be the first one 
on hand. The ladies are ready. Everything is waiting. 
Had you not better go and call him ?” 

“ Perhaps I had,” Jasper Allingford said, carelessly, 
and left the room. Two minutes later he returned, look- 
ing thoroughly frightened. “ Victor,” he gasped, in a 
husky voice, ” come quick ! something has happened ! 
Uncle seems asleep, but I cannot waken him.” 

Together they entered the darkened room. Victor 
drew back the curtains and opened the blinds, then 
turned towards the bed. One glance at the still white 
face of the sleeper was sufficient. 

“ Good heavens ! he is dead !” he exclaimed. 

“Who is dead?” inquired Louise, in a low voice, and 
turning he saw his sister standing on the threshold, her 
bridal veil falling about her like a drapery of mist. 

“ You must leave the room, Louise,” he said, sternly. 


146 MAJELLA; OR, 

“You can be of no assistance here. Jasper, call Dr. 
Vanberg.” 

“ Oh, what is it? What has happened ?” Gertrude cried, 
rushing into the room, followed by the bridemaids. 

“ Calm yourself, Gertie,” Victor said, stepping between 
her and the white face on the pillow. She pushed him 
impatiently away, and, going to the bed, laid her hand 
upon the dead man’s icy brow. With a cry of horror she 
fell fainting to the floor. That scream echoed through 
the house, and brought its terrified inmates to the scene. 

, During the confusion which followed, Victor and Dr. 
Vanberg were the only persons who did not lose their 
senses. The former carried Gertrude to a sofa in the 
hall, led Louise, calm and cold, to her chamber, and 
ordered Retta and Majella to care for his mother, who 
was in a state of nervous excitement bordering on 
insanity. 

The doctor examined Thomas Allingford’s body care- 
fully. As Victor re-entered the room, the physician 
turned to the little group of gentlemen gathered at the 
door, and remarked in his plain matter-of-fact way, 
“ There is nothing to be done, — absolutely nothing. 
The patient has evidently been dead several hours.” 

“ It is strange, terrible, quite beyond my comprehen- 
sion!” exclaimed Judge Kingston. “When I bade Mr. 
Allingford good-night in the hall last evening, he seemed 
as well as usual, though I do remember he rrientioned 
feeling nervous.” 

“ I think you accompanied your uncle up-stairs, Mr. 
Jasper. Can you give any further information ?” inquired 
Dr. Vanberg, fixing his keen blue eyes on the young 
man, who crouched in the darkest corner, seemingly 
overcome by the shock. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


147 


“ — I — believe Ah, yes, I remember now. I did 

come up with uncle and saw him safely to his room. As 
I bade him good-night, he told me that he was feeling 
exceedingly nervous, and should take a dose of chloral 
before retiring.” 

“ Chloral !” echoed the German doctor, savagely; “ that 
explains it ! An overdose, of course. I tell you what 
it is, gentlemen, there should be a law forbidding any 
one except a physician to deal out that stuff. It carries 
death and destruction wherever it goes.” 

“ It is terrible,” murmured Colonel Heathburn. “ Louise, 
my poor child, this is indeed a dark day for you !” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

UNDER THE WILLOWS WITH GERTRUDE. 

Thomas Allingford had been laid to rest in the 
family vault. The bells of Glen Oberon had tolled 
solemnly as the procession wound down the hill, through 
the village, to the railroad station, where they took the 
train for the city, in whose well-kept cemetery the Al- 
lingfords were sleeping. 

With many expressions of sympathy for the bereaved 
bride and declarations in regard to his own irreparable 
loss, Jasper Allingford returned to the summer residence 
on the Hudson, of which he was now the master. 

It was strange, unaccountable, the world said, how 
fortune favored that young man. He had retired at 
night a penniless clerk (in a dingy New York office), 
dependent for his very bread on the whims of a queer 


148 


M A JELL A; OR, 


old man. He had wakened in the morning with all his 
uncle’s gold at his command ; for, by a will made several 
years before, he was the sole heir. It was well known 
that Mr. Allingford had intended to change this will 
immediately after his marriage; but that intention had 
not been carried into effect; and the girl who looked like 
a marble statue, as she stood beside the coffin in her 
sombre robes of mourning, could not lay claim to a 
dollar of the fortune for which she had bartered love 
and truth. 

One by one the guests departed from Laurellawn. 
Among the last to go were Captain Norfield and his 
mother. The evening before they left, the young officer 
took Blanche for a drive among the hills. When they 
returned in the twilight, she stole into the musjc-room, 
where Retta was practising a new piece, and, throwing 
her arms about her friend’s neck, exclaimed, as she kissed 
her rapturously, — 

“ Oh, my darling. I’m so happy to-night ! And yet, 
I know, it is to you I owe it all. Thank you, — thank 
you, Retta, dearest !” 

Don’t waste your thanks on me, Blanche. I’m not 
worth them. Besides, it’s high time you were dressing 
for dinner,” and, turning to the piano, she commenced 
playing again, although she could not see a note. Later 
in the evening, finding herself beside Penn Norfield, she 
said, with a bright smile, “ Allow me to be the first to 
congratulate you, captain. Blanche is the dearest, 
sweetest, best girl in the world !” 

“ I fear she is too good for me,” he answered, humbly. 
“ Sometimes I feel that she is an angel to be reverenced 
and worshipped, but not to be loved as we love mere 


women. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


149 


Retta turned away, wondering if she had done right ; 
if it were well to sacrifice the hopes of two hearts for 
the happiness of one. Crossing the room she sat down 
by Harley, who was relating a thrilling fish story to 
Majella, with himself as the hero. 

The Kingstons were still at the Lawn. Interlaken 
was ready for their reception, but Mrs. Heathburn would 
not hear of their going. She “ should be so lonely with- 
out Gertie,” she said, while the young lady declared “ it 
would positively break” her “ heart to leave dear Mrs. 
Heathburn and poor Louise alone in their sorrow.” 

One thing troubled the mistress of Laurellawn greatly, 
and that was her son’s attitude towards his bride-elect. 
Since that fatal August day, when the house of feasting 
had turned into the house of mourning, and the chime 
of life changed into the knell of death, Victor had 
appeared to ignore, as far as possible, the subject of his 
marriage with Miss Kingston. When his mother referred 
to it, he answered, impatiently, that there was no hurry. 

“ It would be in wretched taste to follow a funeral by a 
wedding.” 

The days drifted by. September was almost gone. 
Gertrude grew uneasy, notwithstanding Mrs. Heathburn’s 
assurance that Victor was only waiting out of respect 
to his sister’s feelings. As she saw him sitting in the 
Snuggery, wandering through the nut-strewn woodlands, 
or driving away in the golden afternoon with the blind 
girl so often by his side, she began to realize that the 
prize for which she had striven so hard was not yet won. 
Six months before, a syllable from her lips, a motion of 
her head, or a wave of her hand, might have made her 
Lady Earncliffe ; but, after a whole summer’s campaign- 
ing, she acknowledged to herself that she might never • 


150 


M A JELL A; OR, 


be Mrs. Victor Heathburn. She was thinking of all 
this, one afternoon, as she strolled beneath the gnarled 
old willows planted in such a way as to form a narrow 
avenue known as ‘^Willow Walk.” On one side of this 
walk was Alder Marsh Creek, which, after leaving Fairy 
Lake, babbled over its stony bed, under the rustic bridge 
among the green meadows, away to the river, with its 
merry or mournful song, as the case might be. 

How much of joy and sorrow the brook had seen ! 
How many children had dipped their bare feet in its 
shimmering depths! How many aged ones had stood 
upon its brink,. comparing it to 


Only a misty river strand 
Lying along a border-land ; 

Two angels lean, 

With the tide between, 

Death and life by that streamlet stand ! 

How many friends had listened to its rippling laugh- 
ter! How many lovers had parted by its grieving 
waters ! But the brooklet told no tale that mortals 
could understand. 

Gertrude was not a poet. She had little appreciation 
of the beautiful. She did not notice how softly the brook 
was singing, or how lightly the west wind touched her 
cheek. She only marvelled how people could praise 
that walk so much. She thought the willows gloomy, 
and meant to have them all cut down when she was 
mistress of Laurellawn. Then she wondered if the 
wind would blow the curl all out of her frizzes, and 
make her face as rough and brown as that of Mrs. 
Greythorn, whom she had seen picking sage in the 
lodge-garden. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


151 

How tiresome and unsatisfactory everything was. For 
the first time in many years this pampered child of 
fortune had a wish ungratified. She had set her heart 
on wedding Victor Heathburn, and had almost succeeded ; 
but, even as she held the sparkling cup to her lips, a dark 
hand had pushed it away, and, though she still clung to 
the cup, she could not quench her thirst, for it was 
empty. She, the heiress of Interlaken, in love with a 
man who turned from her without a sigh, to bestow his 
smiles upon Majella, — the blind, nameless child. 

She had reached this point in her soliloquy, when, 
turning a bend in the walk, she came suddenly upon the 
blind girl seated at the base of a shaggy old tree known 
as the giant. In her lap was a great bunch of golden- 
rod, and beside her a bank of ferns. 

“ Where did you get those ?” Gertrude asked, pausing 
before her. 

“ I Oh, Harley gathered them for me,” Majella 

answered, a little startled. She never felt just at ease in 
this girl’s presence. 

“ What are you going to do with them ?” was the next 
question. 

“ Make them up in bouquets for the Snuggery and 
Victor’s room. He is fond of golden-rod, you know.” 

No, I did not know,” Miss Kingston answered, 
haughtily. Her temper had been sorely tried ; she had 
felt for several days that she must vent her ill feelings 
on some one, and here was an opportunity. She had 
never liked this strange, quiet child, who flitted through 
the house like a ghost, and seemed always standing 
between her and the man whose pledge of fidelity she 
wore upon her slender finger. 

You put on too many airs, Majella,” she continued, 


152 


MAJELLA; OR, 


sharply. “ One would suppose you were a daughter of 
the house, or at least an equal. What right have you, a 
mere dependent, to force your attentions upon Victor 
I leathburn 

“ The right of a grateful girl who appreciates his kind- 
ness, and is glad to show her gratitude by such little acts 
as come within her power.” 

Mock humility !” sneered Gertrude, who had worked 
herself into a real passion by this time. “ How dis- 
gusting; but it will not answer in this case, I can tell 
you. It is all very well for you to talk nonsense to a 
man who cannot see an inch beyond his nose. You can 
coax and pet and flatter Victor Heathburn till he doesn’t 
know black from white, but you can’t deceive me, my 
scheming little innocent.” 

“ I am not trying to deceive you. Miss Kingston, and 
I do not understand at all what you mean,” Majella 
answered, slowly. 

“Oh, you don’t! Well, I’ll explain, then. You’re in 
love with Victor Heathburn. You, a pauper; a charity 
child ; a blind nobody, who ought to be at work, this 
moment, in the poor-house kitchen, instead of forcing 
your company on a lady who is not accustomed to asso- 
ciate with the scum of humanity.” 

“ I am not forcing my company upon you,” the blind 
girl replied ; “ I was here when you came. If you do 
not like my society, you’re not obliged to stay.” 

“You impudent creature!” cried Gertrude, stamping 
her feet in a rage. “ How dare you speak so to me! 
Wait till I’m the mistress of Laurellawn, and you shall 
repent it bitterly. I’ll teach you the consequences of 
loving the man whom I am to marry ! Oh, you need 
not blush and turn away ! You cannot hide your secret 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


153 


•from me. I have known it for weeks, — ever since the 
evening he told you of our engagement. I heard every 
word you said. * You’d sacrifice your life to make him 
happy.’ Oh, yes ; but not even for his sake would you 
try to love the girl who, if she could, would send you to 
the poor-house, condemning you to a life of poverty and 
shame. I shall soon have the power to do just that, and 
I shall improve my chance.” 

“ I do not think you will,” the blind girl said, still 
quite calmly. 

“ And, pray, why not ?” 

“ Because Victor will not let you.” 

“ Victor, indeed ! He will be only too glad to get rid 
of you. Do you suppose he, even for a moment, enter- 
tained the idea of marrying you ?” 

“ No,” Majella answered, her voice very low. 

Then what has been his object ? Why has he kept 
you here ? Why has he dressed and educated you, and 
made a lady of you ?” 

“ I suppose it is simply because he is so good and kind.” 

“ Nonsense. Such traits may have been popular in 
the time of Adam, but they are out of style now. It was 
merely for hiS own pleasure. He has been amusing 
himself with you. Now, he is getting weary of his toy, 
and, just as a child flings away its doll when it is tired of 
it, he will push you aside. The pride of the Heathburns 
is no better than other men. He cares no more for you 
than for the flowers he throws away when withered. 
While he pets and compliments and pretends to be fond 
of you, he is secretly laughing at your silly passion.” 

I don’t believe it. It is false, every word of it !” and 
Majella sprang to her feet, the ferns and golden-rod fall- 
ing in a shower about her. 


II 


54 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ Victor Heathburn is as true as truth itself. The 
kindest, noblest, best man in the world. All I have, all 
I am, I owe to him. He has shielded me from the cold, 
cruel world. He has given me a happy home. He has 
taught me how beautiful life can be. I will not hear a 
word against him ! Gertrude Kingston, if you had one 
spark of respect for the man you are to marry, you would 
die rather than give voice to the falsehoods you have 
spoken !” 

Gertrude stood dumb with astonishment. Could this 
woman, with her flashing eyes, her flushed cheeks, and 
her ringing voice, be the timid child who sat in the dark- 
est corner of the parlor and chose the shadiest nook on 
the piazza ? 

^‘You vulgar creature!” she exclaimed, at last do 
you dare tell me I lie ?” 

“ Yes ; and I would face the whole world and tell it the 
same, if it brought the same accusation against a man 
whom I know to be the soul of truth and honor!” 

“A pretty defender you are?” sneered Gertrude, re- 
sorting to sarcasm, as people usually do when they have 
no better arguments. “ You’d better look to your own 
history. Consider your birth and family. Who was 
your father? Was he the sort of man you would be 
proud to introduce at Laurellawn ? And your mother? 
Would you like Victor Heathburn to meet the woman 
who ” 

“You have said enough. Miss Kingston. Now it is 
my turn.” 

The voice was cold and cutting as the winter wind. 
Turning, Gertrude saw Victor Heathburn standing by 
her side. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


155 


CHAPTER XX. 

UNDER THE WILLOWS WITH VICTOR. 

“ Have you heard all ?” she asked, a frightened ex- 
pression in her eyes. 

“ Every word.” 

“ Eavesdropping is a shabby trick !” she exclaimed, 
resolved to meet the new foe boldly, let the consequences 
be what they might. really thought you more of a 
gentleman, Mr. Heathburn.” 

“ Then we have been mutually disappointed. Miss 
Kingston, for I certainly regarded you as a lady until 
half an hour ago.” 

“ And now ?” 

“ And now,” he repeated, his eyes blazing with anger, 
‘‘ you are beneath my contempt. A person who, without 
the slightest pretext, will attack an innocent, defenceless 
girl’s sensitive nature, ridicule her pure affection, slander 
her friends, and, as if all this were not sufficient, cast the 
dark pall of suspicion over her dead mother’s fair fame, — 
such a being is not worthy the name of a woman, much 
less that of a lady.” 

“ I only told the truth,” said Gertrude, desperately. 

“ True or false, before you fling a stone at your neigh- 
bor’s dwelling, you should look well to the material of 
which your own house is built.” 

What do you mean ?” 

“Just what I say. Do you think your biography 


156 


MAJELLA; OR, 


would compare favorably with that of Majella ? Would 
the result be gratifying to you ?” 

“ What do you know of my past ? Are not the 
Kingstons as respectable a race as even the Heath- 
burns ?” 

“ The Kingstons have nothing to do with the matter. 
I know your story, careful as you have been to keep it 
from me. I know that you are no more related to Judge 
Kingston than I am ; that your mother was a shallow 
woman of the world, who deserted her husband and 
child and ran away with a former music-teacher ; that 
your father, then Judge Kingston’s private secretary, on 
learning of his wife’s disloyalty, sent a ball through 
his brains ; that you, a helpless babe, would have been 
sent to a foundling asylum had it not been for the judge’s 
kindness. Not wishing to adopt you as his own daughter, 
because to him that place was sacred, he brought you up 
as a niece.” 

Do you think it kind to taunt me with all this ?” 

“ No, I do not. I never intended to mention it to you, 
and should not have done so but for the cruel, heartless 
words you have spoken to one who is as far above you 
as the stars are above the earth.” 

“ Oh, you’re very fond of her !” sneered Gertrude, 
resorting to sarcasm again, though a sudden pallor had 
settled over her face. “ No doubt you would like to be 
freed from your engagement to me ?” 

” I regard myself as already free. After the exhibition 
of your true nature with which you have favored me, I 
do not consider myself bound to you by duty or by 
honor.” 

“ What ! You refuse to marry me ?” she gasped. 

“ Most certainly I do. Do you think I would choose 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


157 


as my wife a woman who is a disgrace to her sex, — who 
lacks the tenderness, the pity, the heart we love to 
ascribe to her ?” 

“And you will marry that girl, — blind, nameless, and 
penniless. A fair bride she will be ! Your lady mother 
will be proud to welcome such a daughter. Take your 
ring ; I scorn to wear it,” and drawing the glittering 
diamond from her finger she flung it at Victor’s feet. 
“ Give it to her,” she cried, with a glance over her 
shoulder. 

“No!” he said, picking up the ring; “I would not 
insult her by offering what you have worn.” Stepping 
to the creek, which here formed an eddy several feet 
deep, he dropped the golden trinket in the pool. “ Thus 
ends the first great mistake of my life I” he muttered. 
“ Thank God, I have seen the folly before it was too 
late I” 

Gertrude looked at him for an instant ; then realizing 
how, by gratifying a momentary desire to wound the 
feelings of another, she had driven out of her life the 
only man for whom she entertained one spark of affec- 
tion, she fled away beneath the willows, whose branches 
bent defiantly as if to whisper, “ You think us dark and 
gloomy ; you mean to have us all cut down when you 
are mistress I Ah, yes — when you are mistress !” 

The young man watched her out of sight. Then he 
turned to Majella, who crouched beneath the tree, her 
face hidden in the ferns. 

“ Oh, Victor !” she exclaimed, as he sat down beside 
her, “ I have spoiled your life 1 I have separated you 
from the woman you love ! I, who would have died to 
make you happy! Your mother will hate me! Every- 
body will hate me, — and you ” 


MAJELLA; OR, 


158 

She never finished the sentence, for suddenly Victor 
Heathburn’s arms were about her, and she was clasped in 
a passionate embrace, while he whispered, — 

“ Mella, Mella ! what a blind, senseless fool I have 
been. How could I be so deceived ? How could I 
fancy even for a moment that I loved that heartless 
creature? How could I forget you, my little wild rose, 
my stray fairy, who has ever been the dearest, sweetest 
of God’s gifts to me ? Mella, can you forgive me all I 
have made you suffer ? Can you forget the mistakes of 
the summer and be my ” 

“ Your little girl,” she interrupted, *‘as I used to be in 
the dear old days.” 

” No,” Victor answered, almost impatiently. “ You 
cannot be a little girl again. You are no longer a child. 
The old days are gone forever. I would not recall them 
if I could. I felt the change that evening as you stood 
in the moonlight, so cold and proud and still ; but I 
never quite understood it until to-day. Mella, my brave, 
true-hearted Mella, I want you for my wife!” 

“ Your wife !” she echoed, springing from his arms and 

standing before him. ” No, it’s It cannot be. Surely 

you are mad, — quite mad. You have forgotten who I 
am. I know what you have done for me. I know what 
opposition you have endured ; and do you think I would 
let you make the last great sacrifice, — let you carry for 
life this helpless burden, — let you, who were born to 
honor and riches, give your name to one whose birth, 

whose mother Oh, it is all too hard and cruel ! 

Why has God punished me so ?” 

Victor Heathburn had risen to his feet and stood 
watching her with increased admiration ; but when the 
clear voice trembled and broke, and the slender form 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


59 


bent, as if beneath its weight of shame, he took her 
hands in his and said gently, “ Mella, I am going to ask 
you one question, and you must answer it truly. You 
believe in a God who can see and hear all we do or say. 
Now, in His presence, tell me, do you love me ?” 

“ How can I help loving you, Victor, when you have 
brought all the brightness into my life ?” 

“ Hush !” he cried, sternly. “ I do not mean that. I 
know you are grateful. But it is not gratitude I want ; 
it is love. Answer me, Majella ; do you love me ?” 

In all her life the blind girl had never told a lie. Truth 
seemed as natural to her as the air she breathed. After 
a moment’s hesitation, with a wave of crimson surging 
up to her brow, she answered very low,*“ Yes, Victor, I 
love you.” 

“ Then,” he said, solemnly, “ all the pride of the 
Heathburns, all the prejudice of the world, shall not 
come between us! You shall be my wife, Majella.” 
And bending his fair head he kissed the lips which kissed 
him back unhesitatingly. 


CHAPTER XXL 

TOO YOUNG TO DIE. 

An hour later, when Victor came up the avenue with 
Majella by his side, Harley, who was reading “The 
Spy” on the piazza, noticed how the girl had changed. 
Her eyes were shining, her cheeks flushed, her step light, 
and her voice, when she paused to speak to him, seemed 
to tremble and thrill with happiness. He had seen Ger- 


i6o 


MAJELLA; OR, 


trude come up the same path, and heard her say, as she 
entered the hall, “ Uncle James, I want you to take me 
to Interlaken early to-morrow morning. I won’t spend 
another day in this horrid place ! I hate it, and every- 
thing in it !” 

Taking up these threads, and weaving them with others 
which he had been gathering for the past few weeks, 
Harley came to a conclusion. Evidently it was not satis- 
factory, for he flung down his favorite Cooper as he said 
to himself, — 

“ Well, it may be true that some people are born to 
good things and some to bad. . No doubt it’s pleasant 
enough for the former, but I’ll be shot if it’s very agree- 
able to the latter: 

“ Now, there’s Victor. I thought he would be con- 
tented when he decided to marry the heiress of Inter- 
laken. But, no ; he must come back to the old home and 
rob us of our sunbeam. I’m not jealous, of course. I’m 
not in love with Midget, — certainly not ; but, by Jove, 
Victor Heathburn is a round higher on the ladder of 
development than the animal known as the pig.” 

That evening Victor had a long talk with Judge 
Kingston. Just what was said no one knew, but, when 
they bade each other good-night, the judge remarked, — 

“ It may seem strange to you, Victor, but I’m glad for 
what has happened to-day. I have done my best by 
Gertrude, and yet I have felt all the time that she was 
not worthy to be your wife. As to Majella, next to the 
memory of my young wife whom I laid away to rest so 
long ago, is my love for her. I have given her the place 
my lost daughter held, and if by a sudden flash of reve- 
lation it could be proved that she was Madelon’s child, I 
would bury the past, with all its bitterness, and be happy.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. l6l 

Then, as the blind girl came up the stairs, the old man 
took her hand in his, as he continued, — 

“ God bless you, my child ! God bless you both, my 
children !” 

The next morning the Kingstons left Laurellawn. 

Louise declared it was “ a burning shame, — a disgrace 
to the family;” that if her brother persisted in marrying 
Majella, she would “ never recognize her as a sister, 
never speak to him again.” 

Mrs. Heathburn lay in her darkened room going from 
one fainting fit into another with alarming rapidity, and 
in her intervals of consciousness protesting that the end 
had come at last ; that the being whom she had wor- 
shipped, whose future had been dearer to her “ than all 
the world beside, had struck the death-blow.” 

Victor did not repent. He told Louise that her con- 
sent was not necesssry to his happiness. Then going to 
his mother, he sat by her side hour after hour, speaking 
in his firm, low tones, smoothing her tangled hair, hold- 
ing her thin hands until the troubled brain grew calm. 
She fell asleep just as the September sun bathed the hill- 
tops with its golden good-night splendor. 

Going to the library, Victor found a letter awaiting 
him. It was from the president of the W Univer- 

sity, and offered him the chair of modern languages in 
that popular institution. The place had been left vacant 
by the death of Professor Smith. After a confidential 
chat with his father, he decided to accept the position. 

“ But will not this interfere with your plans in regard 
to Majella ?” the colonel asked. ” I thought you in- 
tended taking her to Germany for treatment ?” 

“ Not until next summer. She will be eighteen then, 
and I shall take her as my wife. I fancy Captain Nor- 


MAJELLA; OK, 


162 

field and Blanche will accompany us, and hope you and 
mother will join the party. Vanberg is almost certain 
Majella’s sight can be restored. Indeed, I think there are 
oculists in this country who might perform the operation, 
but he will not hear of any one except his friend. Dr. 
Schreinherst, of Leipsic. 

“ The winter will soon pass and bring my vacation, 
when we will take a trip across the sea. It will do 
mother good to visit her favorite Paris again. The soft 
winds of Italy will brighten Blanche’s roses, while Mella 
and I are anxious to visit Madelon’s grave in the old 
French garden.” 

Alas for Victor’s planning ! Alas for the pictures we 
draw of the future ! One stroke of the All-Wise Artist’s 
brush may change the scene forever. 

As yet no frost had touched the flowers in the garden. 
Only the deepening shadows, the glowing tints, and the 
south wind’s languid sighs told that the summer was 
dying. So it was at Laurellawn. No icy blast had sud- 
denly crushed its fairest flower. Yet slowly, surely, a 
shadow was creeping over its threshold, — along the hall, 
up the stairs, to the white-draped room where, all day 
long, Blanche Heathburn lay by the window, watching 
the fleecy cloud-banks drift slowly down a sea of purple 
haze, wondering to what haven they were bound, smiling 
as they met and floated on together, sighing when the 
night came down and the fairy barks were lost in dark- 
ness. 

She was not sick ; no, she was only tired, so tired ! 
She wanted to lie and rest and watch the summer die. 
How everything clung to life. How bravely the flowers 
lifted their heads in the morning. How the leaves swayed 
and trembled, yet held their slender support until, at last, 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 163 

the frost came. The flowers drooped and died. The 
leaves drifted down to their graves in the frozen grass, 
and, with a burst of tears, Blanche wound her arms 
around the blind girl’s neck as she exclaimed, — 

“ Oh, Mella ! why must everything die, — everything 
that is fair and sweet? The flowers were only just in 
blossom. The leaves did not want to fall, and I know 
the birds were sorry to leave their nests among the 
maples? Why can’t the summer last forever? Why 
does God let it die so soon ?” 

“Perhaps He transplants His flower-children to heaven 
when they have helped to make the world sweeter, as He 
does us when our mission is done. We know there are 
flowers and trees and everything beautiful in the gardens 
of God. There no frost ever comes, no chill winds 
blow, for the summer is eternity. 

He doeth all things well’ It is better the flowers 
should die, better the grass should brown and sear. If 
they were still fresh and green, it would be so cruel to 
cover them up with the snow. God teaches the birds to 
fly away to the summer land. It is His hand that guides 
them southward, just as it is He who guides us to heaven. 
I think those are happier who die while young. Think 
of the sorrows they escape; of the frost and the chill 
and the snow they never feel ! Yes, Blanche, darling, 
when it is God’s will, it is better to go with the sum- 
mer.” 

“ Mella, why do you speak so solemnly ? And there, — 
a tear fell on 'my hand ! Are you crying for the summer 
or for me ? What does it all mean ? Why do they treat 
me so tenderly ? Why does papa look so grave when 
he comes to kiss me good-night ? and why does the old 
doctor shake his head when I tell him I shall be better 


164 


MAJELLA; OR, 


to-morrow. I’m not very ill. I’m only just a little tired. 
They don’t think I’m going to die, — surely they don’t 
think that? I’m too young, — far too young ! I haven’t 
seen the summer ! It’s only the spring-time with me. 
Mella, you are good and true. I’m sure God loves you, 
and will answer your prayers. Ask Him to make me 
well again. Tell Him I am too young to die ! The 
world is so beautiful, and I am so happy. Oh, I want to 
live a little while longer!” 

To hide her tears, Mella laid her face beside Blanche’s 
on the pillow and breathed a passionate prayer for the 
young girl’s life ; but in her heart she felt that prayer 
would not be answered. The truth had not been spoken 
in words; but into the hearts of those who loved her 
had crept the fear that Blanche was going from them 
forever, — floating out to sea so slowly and quietly they 
could hardly note the change ; yet every morning the 
distance was widened a trifle, — every evening she seemed 
a little farther from them. 

Early in the summer Blanche had caught a slight cold. 
Little had been thought of it at the time, but as the weeks 
went by the hacking cough continued. The slight form 
grew more shadowy. Then came an utter weariness of 
body and soul. There was no suffering, only a heavy, 
all-pervading languor, which seemed to creep up from 
the finger-tips, over heart and brain, until breathing was 
a task. Lying in the firelight with closed eyes and folded 
hands, it did not seem possible the angel of death was 
standing by her side, — she was so young, so fair. 

By and by the languor passed. Her eyes sparkled, 
her cheeks glowed. Surely she was better. The dark- 
robed angel had lifted his wings and let the sunlight of 
life shine in again. But those who knew best whispered 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


165 

that the light in her eyes and the flush on her cheeks 
were as evanescent as the scarlet and gold of the autumn 
leaves. 


CHAPTER XXII. 
mella's prayer. 

“ Yes, colonel, I would advise a trip to Florida. The 
change may be beneficial. Mind you, I do not say it 
will be ; but there is a chance, a small chance, I fear.” 

“ If there is even a shadow of hope, it shall be tried. 
What love and money can do to save my child’s life shall 
be done.” 

“ And trust the rest to God,” suggested the old 
doctor. 

“ I have little proof that there is a God,” Colonel 
Heathburn answered, impatiently. “ If there were, and 
He was the merciful Father you Christians try to make 
Him out, surely He would not rob me of the dearest of 
all my possessions.” 

“ Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,” quoted the 
physician. “ I do not wish to seem harsh, Richard ; but 
sometimes, when we are not thankful enough to the 
giver ' of every good and perfect gift,’ He takes the gift 
away, to teach us our dependence.” 

“ Surely I love my daughter as dearly as any father 
ever loved his child.” 

“ Your daughter. Ah, yes, that is just it ; you worship 
the gift, but neglect the giver. Dick, I’m older than you 
by a score of years. I can remember when you used to 


66 


M A JELL A; OR, 


come to our little Methodist class-meeting at the old 
church, and tell us in your bright, eager way how you 
meant to give your life to God. Well, you’ve seen a 
good deal of life since then, and had a greater measure of 
success than falls to the lot of most men ; but, my boy, 
you’ll never be on the right track till you come back to 
the simple old faith of your childhood, — till you kneel 
right down at Jesus’s feet and say, ‘ Here, Lord, take me 
as I am. Make of me what I ought to be.’ ” 

A week later Colonel and Mrs. Heathburn, Blanche 
and Majella, started for Florida. Victor had gone to his 
new position at the university. The Brooklynes had 
returned to America, and, deciding to spend the winter 
in New York, Retta had joined them there. Harhy and 
Louise were the only representatives of the family to be 
left at the Lawn. 

They, together with the servants, were grouped on the 
piazza to see the travellers off. Blanche was bright with 
aaticipation. Her hopeful expressions helped somewhat 
to dispel the dark forebodings of her friends. As they 
passed through the village the church-bell chimed mer- 
rily. 

It is ringing for Nancy White’s wedding !” she ex- 
claimed. “ How I love the old bell ! I shall remember 
its sound all the time I am gone ; and, perhaps, it will 
ring for me when I come home.” 

Ah, Blanche ! fair, sweet Blanche ! it zvill ring for you ; 
but you will not hear its muffled tones ! 

Victor met them in New York, and saw them on ship- 
board. At Blanche’s earnest request they were to travel 
by water. 

“ I shall be quite well and strong when I see you again, 
Victor,” she said, as she bade him good-by. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 67 

“ I hope so, little sister,” he replied. Then, turning to 
Majella, who seemed unusually sad, he continued, — 

“ Why, my wild rose, you look as if our parting were 
for five years instead of five months. You must not let 
the shadow which has fallen over our home darken your 
hopes. The winter will soon be over, and when the roses 
bloom again I shall claim my bride.” 

‘‘ I cannot help it, Victor,” she said. “ I know it is 
foolish ; but I feel to-day that I am saying good-by to 
the old life forever.” 

A large upper chamber in the old plantation-house at 
Hill Grove, Florida. The balmy Southern air floated 
through the upper windows, across the sunlit room, to 
the old-fashioned bedstead, among whose downy pil- 
lows Blanche Heathburn lay breathing her young life 
away. 

The last chance had been tried, but failed. Those 
gathered at the bedside knew that the end was near. The 
bark was drifting faster now ; it was almost “ over the 
harbor bar.” 

“ Mella, has he come yet ?” the sick girl whispered, 
raising her eyes full of pleading to her friend’s face. 

“ Not yet, Blanche ; but he will be here soon,” Majella 
said, soothingly. Two weeks before they had telegraphed 
to Penn Norfield, at his post on the frontier, that Blanche 
could not live. For several days they had been expect- 
ing him. Each morning Blanche had said, He will 
come before night,” and at evening, “ He will be here in 
the morning.” 

But hope had grown weary, and, in reply to Majella’s 
words, she answered sadly, — 

“ Yes, he will come ; but I shall not be here to say 


i68 


MAJELLA; OR, 


farewell ! Papa, I want to write something to him. Give 
me paper and pencil, please.” 

Her father obeyed, and, with a great effort, she traced 
a few words on the page. 

“ Keep it for him, Mella,” she said, handing it to the 
blind girl. “ When all is over give it to Penn, and tell 
him I 'was glad to die — and free him from his promise. 
Tell him I wish him to find, Retta — and make her 
happy.” 

“ Yes, dear, I will do all you wish. Now try to sleep.” 

“There is more I want to say. I must talk while 
I have strength. Papa, don’t leave me here among 
strangers. No matter how bright the flowers or how 
green the grass, I should feel homesick all the while. 
I’d rather lie under the cold white snow and be at home. 
Bury me close by the path where the people come and 
go. I shall not feel so lonesome if I can hear their foot- 
steps. There will be the church-bells, too, each Sab- 
bath, and all through the summer the robins among the 
leaves. Let the grass and daisies grow over my grave. 
Maybe when they bend in the wind they’ll tell me whose 
footsteps I hear as they pass. The daisies have been my 
meadow friends always, and I shall love them still, even 
though I’m dead. Don’t feel sorry for me when I’m 
gone. 

“ It was hard at first ; I didn’t want to die. Life was 
so beautiful and I so young. But I now know ’tis better. 
I am so tired ! I shall be glad to lie down and rest ! 

“ Papa, dear papa, don’t cry for me ! You’re not losing 
your little girl. She’s only going on before to open the 
gates for you.” 

Blanche had made these requests at intervals during 
the afternoon, her voice growing weaker with each sen- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


169 

tence. Just as the sun set she turned to her mother, who 
was lying on a sofa completely exhausted by grief, and 
asked, — 

“ Mamma, do you think I’ll live till morning ?” 

“ Don’t ask me, my child. Oh, I cannot tell !” sobbed 
the stricken woman. 

Will I, doctor?” Blanche inquired, looking up at the 
family physician, who, in response to a telegram from the 
colonel, had arrived the night before. “ Will I live till 
morning ?” 

“ It is impossible to tell, my child,” the old man said, 
slowly. ‘^You may live until daylight; but it does not 
seem probable now.” 

“ Where is Majella ?” 

“ Here, beside you, dear.” 

“ Mella, do you think God would hear you if you 
prayed to Him very earnestly ?” 

” God always hears earnest prayers, my darling.” 

“Then ask Him to let me live until sunrise. I don’t 
want to die in the dark. I should be so afraid to leave 
you and go away in the night.” 

Mella knelt by the bedside and, in a voice broken with 
sobs, prayed, — 

“O Jesus, dear Jesus, let us keep our darling just a 
little longer ! Don’t call her away in the night. Let her 
stay till morning, and in the sunrise we will give her up 
to Thee !” 

Tick, tick, tick, the minutes ebbed away. Chime, 
chime, chime, the old clock in the kitchen tolled the 
passing hours. Still Blanche Heathburn lived. Now 
and then she murmured, — 

“ Let — me — stay — till — the sun rises and Mella, 
kneeling by her side, echoed the prayer with passionate 

12 


170 


M A JELL A; OR, 


fervor. The stars dimmed and faded. The eastern sky 
was flushed with the coming dawn. 

‘‘Put — out — the — lights — and draw the — curtains. I 
want to see — the — morning.” 

They obeyed, and with her face turned towards the east 
Blanche watched the brightening day. 

“ It — is — almost — light. Kiss me papa, — mamma, — 
Mella.” 

Hushing their grief, they gave the sad farewell. The 
sky was golden now, but Blanche did not see it. The 
blue eyes were closed and the restless hands were still. . 

“ She has gone !” whispered the colonel. There was a 
step on the stairs, the door opened, and a tall, bronzed 
man crossed the threshold. 

“ Blanche ! Blanche !” he cried, bending over the still 
form and kissing the silent lips, “ look at me ! speak to 
me just one word, my darling!” 

Back from the shadowless shores of light the drifting • 
spirit came. The eyes opened, the lips moved, and 
through the still room her voice echoed clear and sweet, 

“ Good-morning, Penn !” 

Over the hill-tops came the sunlight. One slanting 
golden ray touched and rested on the dead girl’s face. 
God had answered Mella’s prayer, for Blanche had gone 
in the sunrise. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


I7I 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

LOST MAJELLA. 

It was ten o’clock a.m. At two, that afternoon, the 
Heathburns were to begin their sad journey home, 
accompanied by Captain Norfield. He had been out 
with a scouting party when the telegram reached the 
fort. Only by the most fortunate connections had he 
arrived in time to receive the last greeting from the girl 
who was to have been his wife. 

When Blanche became so much worse. Colonel Heath- 
burn had suggested sending for Louise and her brothers ; 
but she objected. 

“ No, papa,” she said ; “ let then> remember me as I 
used to be at the Lawn. Why should they come here 
just to see me die ?” 

In this, as in everything, her wishes were obeyed. 

“ Mella, you had better go out for a walk ; you look 
pale and tired,” the colonel said, chancing to meet her in 
the lower hall. 

I have a slight headache, that is all. Can I not be 
of some assistance with the packing ? or I might sit with 
Mrs. Heathburn.” 

“ No, no. You have done enough for the last few 
days. You must not look like a shadow. Victor will 
be alarmed. Shall I call Ninnette to accompany you ?” 

“ Thank you ; I will go alone. I shall not be out more 
than half an hour.” 


1/2 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Five minutes later Mrs. Holden, the mistress of Hill 
Grove, saw the blind girl walk slowly down a narrow 
path- in the direction of Black Pool, a small body of 
stagnant water which the superstitious negroes declared 
was as bottomless as the big pit itself. 

Two hours passed, still Majella had not returned. 
Colonel Heathburn was surprised ; Mrs. Holden fright- 
ened. She had always thought it unsafe for the blind 
girl to wander about alone ; now she knew “ something 
dreadful had happened.” 

“ It never rained but it poured. There was Miss 
Blanche lying in her coffin, and Miss Mella drowned- 
dead like as not.” 

Ninnette was sent in search of her mistress, but 
she returned alone. The colonel was now thoroughly 
alarmed. He went himself to explore the ground, ac- 
companied by Mrs. Holden. On the very brink of the 
pool they paused. There, at their feet, lay the gloves 
which Majella had jvorn. Could it be that by some 

misstep, some maddening impulse of grief, or the dark 

hand of crime, she had fallen into that yawning pit of 
death ? It did not seem possible, and yet what other 
explanation could there be ? The hour that followed 
was fraught with the wildest excitement. Mrs. Holden 
sat on the brink of the pool, waving to and fro like a 
reed in the wind. Ninnette knelt beside her, straining 
her bright eyes to pierce the dark waters while at- 
tempts were made to sound the pool ; but with the 

means at command this was soon found to be a hope- 

less task. Colonel Heathburn and Penn Norfield were 
almost beside themselves with anxiety. They rushed 
about, peering into the most impossible places, looking 
just where every one else had looked, and then, in 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 73 

their abject helplessness, asking each other what it all 
meant. 

Mrs. Heathburn, who had revived somewhat when 
her maid brought in her travelling dress of the deepest 
mourning, refused to be comforted in this new affliction. 

What was to be done? the colonel asked himself, in 
despair. They must start for home at once; yet how 
could they leave with Majella’s fate unknown ? How 
could he meet Victor with the story of this calamity ? 
But meet him he must. 

At two o’clock the little procession left the plantation- 
house for the station. Colonel Heathburn gave many 
instructions in regard to the search for Majella, which 
was to be prosecuted with the greatest thoroughness. 
Leaving a large sum of money for this purpose with 
Mrs. Holden, he commenced his homeward journey, 
promising to return immediately after his daughter’s 
funeral. 

Slowly, solemnly, yet distinctly, the deep-toned bells 
of Glen Oberon proclaimed the tidings of death. The 
travellers were expected at three o’clock. Their car- 
riages were waiting at the station to convey them to the 
church, where Blanche’s favorite flowers were blooming, 
Blanche’s favorite hymns were to be sung, and Blanche’s 
young friends were gathered. 

Colonel Heathburn would have preferred a private 
funeral at Laurellawn, where the great parlors could have 
been draped in black, all the sunlight shut out from the 
silent rooms, and only the family and invited friends been 
present. But Victor, or Professor Heathburn, as they 
called him at the University, had made the arrangements 
in accordance with his own ideas of right and wrong. 


174 


M A JELL A; OR, 


“ I am sure she would prefer it,” he said, in reply to 
Louise’s objections. “She loved the villagers, old and 
young, and it would sadden her, even in heaven, to know 
they were not allowed to take part in this last service of 
love. It should be a quiet funeral, as simple and unas- 
suming as the life of our little sister.” 

“ Step into the carriage, Victor ; they are ready to 
start,” said Colonel Heathburn, nervously. 

“ I was waiting for Majella. I have not seen her or 
Ninnette.” 

“ They are not here ; they did not come. I will explain 
on our way to church.” 

Victor obeyed, and, as briefly as possible, his father 
told the strange story. 

“ Did Ninnette disappear also ?” the young man in- 
quired. 

“No; she is at Hill Grove. She refused to leave the 
spot where she believes her mistress died.” 

“ And you think Majella drowned ?” 

“ I see no other explanation. What do you say ?” 

“ I say there’s foul play somewhere. The mystery has 
reached its climax. Majella has been stolen.” 

“ Impossible 1 Who would steal a poor, blind girl ?” 

“ I do not know, I cannot tell. I can only know that 
Majella is alive, and I must find her. I promised to take 
care of her, and my word shall not be broken.” 

The congregation was somewhat surprised when Victor 
Heathburn followed his sister’s coffin into the altar. 
After gazing a moment at the sweet face among the 
flowers, he turned, walked rapidly down the aisle, and 
out of the church. 

Half an hour later he was seated in the afternoon 
express and being whirled away to the city, where he 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


175 


took the first train bound for the South. He sent two 
telegrams before beginning his hasty journey. One was 
to the president of the university, informing that gentle- 
man that he should be absent two weeks ; the other to 
his father, stating that he was going to find Majella. 

Days, weeks, months went by. The April rain fell 
softly on the new-made grave in the Heathburn lot. The 
myrtle crept closely about it with its crest of blue blos- 
soms. The young grass covered it with a robe of green. 

Victor resigned his chair at the university, and gave 
himself up' to the search for Majella. Advertisements 
were inserted in leading papers, the best detectives were 
employed, large rewards were offered, — all in vain. Not 
the slightest trace of the missing girl could be dis- 
covered. 

“ It is hopeless, my son,” Colonel Heathburn wrote to 
Victor, one day late in April. “ Every circumstance tends 
to prove that Majella was drowned. Why waste ypur 
energies in this fruitless labor? Go back to the univer- 
sity, and forget the sorrow and disappointment of the 
past, as many a man has done before.” 

To this letter Victor replied, “ Majella is not dead. I 
am as positive of her existence as of my own. I have 
one .purpose to accomplish, — that is to find her. I shall 
give up my search only when I give up my life, or find 
my darling.” 

Colonel Heathburn sighed when he realized how his 
son’s prospects were blighted, — how the youth, strength, 
and ambition which were to have won honor and fame 
would be expended in what he considered a useless 
task. 

Harley approved of his brother’s action. “ I never 
took much stock in his essays and book reviews and 


MAJELLA; OR, 


176 

political speeches,” he remarked; “but when a fellow 
gives up his chance to be President of the United States 
for the girl he loves, — well, he’s worthy to be my brother, 
that’s all.” 

People said Harley had little feeling on the subject. 
They did not see how he could laugh and jest when the 
pall of sorrow had settled so darkly over his house. 
They did not know that many a night, when the wind 
was wailing among the pines and no stars shone through 
the rain-laden clouds, he stole to the quiet grave beside 
the path where the villagers strolled each Sabbath after- 
noon, and, leaning against the marble slab, looked down 
at the lowly mound until his hot tears fell on the tender 
grass. 

Not for the dead girl did he weep. ' She was at rest, — 
safe. But the sunbeam, without whom the laurels 
seemed so lonely, where was she? She belonged to 
Victor. Harley never questioned that. But there, in 
the deep spring darkness, it was no treason to his hand- 
some brother to mourn for the lost Majella. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE stranger’s STORY. 

When Majella strolled away beneath the orange-trees, 
that fatal February morning, she had only one wish, — 
that was to be alone ; to reach some spot where she 
could indulge the grief she had kept hidden in her heart. 

The pool was familiar to her. She had been there 
many times before. Reaching its brink, she sat down 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


i;; 


under a live oak-tree, about which clung the much- 
admired Florida moss. Drawing off her gloves, she 
laid them beside her, then sat quite still, thinking of all 
that had happened since the November morning when 
she bade Victor “ good-by” on the deck of the Ontario. 

She was wakened from her revery by the sound of 
a strange voice, evidently that of a man. 

Miss Majella ?” 

She rose to her feet and waited. 

“ Don’t let me startle you,” the stranger continued, 
and she perceived that he spoke with a slight foreign 
accent. 

“ I have been trying to see you alone for several days, 
and have only just succeeded.” 

“ Why did you wish to see me alone?” she asked, in 
surprise. 

To tell you something about your mother, which 
I thought might interest you.” 

” My mother! Did you know her ? Is she still living ? 
Why did she desert me, — a helpless babe ? Was she 
ashamed to own her child ?” 

” I cannot answer all your questions here. I might 
meet Richard Heathburn, and for reasons which you will 
understand, if you will hear my story, it is best our paths 
should not cross. If you will walk with me a little way 
down the road, I will tell you everything.” 

” But I am blind. I never go outside the gates alone, 
and you are a stranger. I do not even know your 
name.” 

” My name is Julian Moranno. I thought, perhaps, 
you would like to know something of your birth and 
parentage, but it is of no consequence. If you are un- 
willing to trust me, I need not trouble you longer.” 


178 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Majella hesitated. Then she thought of the mystery 
that shrouded her life, of the shadow of shame which 
seemed to follow her and dim the sunshine of her bright- 
est days, of the mother who had left her to the care of 
strangers. The temptation was too great. 

“ I will go with you,” she said. “ Now, Mr. Moranno, 
please tell me your story as soon as possible,” Majella 
urged, when they were fairly out on the highway. We 
start for home at two o’clock. I must not keep them 
waiting.” 

” There is plenty of time. It is only half-past ten now, 
and I shall not detain you long. Well, to begin at the 
• beginning, I am a Spaniard by birth, a Frenchman by 
education, and an American by adoption. I was born 
in Madrid some fifty odd years ago. When I was about 
ten years old my parents died within a week of each 
other, and I was sent to an old uncle, who had a chateau 
in Southern France. I remained there until I was fifteen, 
when the old man died, leaving me his house and garden, 
which were terribly dilapidated. I had no money for re- 
pairs, and I could not rent the place as it was, so I shut it 
up and went to Paris. I had a hard time of it for three 
years. Then I fell in with a theatrical company, and life 
became brighter. I had an excellent tenor voice. Wages 
were high. With money came friends, and with friends, 
pleasure. I was the gayest in gay Paris. One night at 
a ball I met an American lady and her niece. The aunt 
was a shallow woman, who judged everything by appear- 
ances ; the young lady a perfect type of the American 
girl, bright, pretty, impulsive, passionate. She fell in 
love with me, and, of course, I was too polite to decline 
the honor. I knew she was engaged to a gentleman in 
America, a fellow who owned half a State, while I hadn’t 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


179 


a red cent, except what I earned before the footlights. 
But if she didn’t care, why should I ? The aunt approved 
of the match, and we were married. We spent our 
honeymoon at the old chateau. Then returned to Paris, 
where Madge went upon the stage. She soon became 
immensely popular. 

“For years she was the favorite actress of the capital. 
Then her health failed, and I took her to the old chateau, 
which had been repaired somewhat in the mean time. 
Here our baby girl was born. I did not see either 
mother or child until one winter night, when, having 
heard some rather doubtful reports as to my doings in 
Paris, Madge came to the city to learn the truth for* 
herself She found a pretty French-woman and her little 
daughter occupying my rooms at the hotel. 

“ A lively skirmish followed, which resulted in the 
woman’s vacating the rooms and Madge’s returning to 
Chateau des Roses. The next summer I heard that she 
was dangerously ill. I could not leave the city just then. 
When I did go, it was too late. Madge was dead. Old 
Jacques, the only servant in the house, had dug her 
grave among the roses in the garden, and buried her in 
a coffin which he had intended for himself 

“ In answer to my questions in regard to the child, he 
told me that the nurse who had taken care of his mistress 
had disappeared several days before her death, taking 
Lynola with her. I determined never to rest until I 
found my child, and I have kept my word ; for you are 
Lynola.” 

“And my mother?” Majella whispered, speaking for 
the first time since the beginning of the story. 

“ Has been dead for more than sixteen years.” 

“ Her name was Madelon Kingston ?” 


8o 


M A JELL A; OR, 


“ Yes, that was her name.” 

“ And the American gentleman to whom she was en- 
gaged was Colonel Heathburn?” 

“ Yes. Richard Heathburn, now colonel. But have 
you no word for me, no welcome after all these years of 
waiting ?” 

“ I can only think, now, of my poor young mother 
dying alone in that strange land.” 

And for me, your father, you’ve only scorn and con- 
tempt. Ah, well ! Such is the world.” 

“ No, I do not scorn you. lA time, I shall think of 
you kindly. I may even learn to love you ; but it is all 
so sudden, so strange ! Take me back to Hill Grove, 
please. I must see Colonel Heathburn. He will tell me 
what is best.” 

“ Then you will desert your own father for those who 
have no claim upon you.” 

“ They have a claim upon me, — at least Victor has. 
They are the only friends I have ever had, and they have 
a right to hear the story. Take me to them at once !” 

“ Come to my carriage, then. It is only a few yards 
farther on. We may as well drive. It’s too far for you 
to walk.’^ 

Majella accompanied him to where a carriage was 
standing, with a pair of strong horses attached. He lifted 
her in, nodded to the driver, and, with a crack of the 
whip, they dashed away. 

“Where are we going?” she exclaimed, in alarm. 
“ You have not turned around. This is not the direction 
to Hill Grove. Where are you taking me?” 

“ To Montgomery,” was the quiet reply. 

“ I cannot — I will not go ! Let me out at once ! 
Stop ! Stop !” she cried, springing to her feet in wild 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


i8i 


excitement. With a quick movement her father forced 
her back into her seat; at the same time, taking a 
sponge from his pocket, he pressed it to her face. There 
was a momentary struggle, then Majella lay back among 
the cushions white and helpless. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

A YEAR LATER. 

It was spring in the southland. The breath of the 
morning floated in at the window and lifted the dark 
hair from Majella’s brow. She did not heed its touch. 
She did not even notice how fragrant was the one white 
rose blooming in the tin can on her window-sill. Her 
heart was very sad. 

A year had passed since the night when she knelt by 
Blanche Heathburn’s death-bed and prayed that God 
would stay the angel until the morning. 

Twelve weary months of waiting. At first the lamp 
of hope had burned brightly in her heart. She was 
sure Victor would seek and find her, but as the summer 
drifted by, autumn and winter followed in its wake, and 
still no tidings came from the home in the North, the 
flame grew dimmer and dimmer until she felt, that 
spring morning, that the last spark had died out and left 
her in the darkness of despair. 

When the effects of the chloroform, which Julian 
Moranno had administered to his daughter, wore away, 
and the blind girl awoke to consciousness, she was on 


i 82 


MAJELLA; OR, 


the railway train, which, to her disordered fancy, seemed 
rushing at lightning speed to escape Colonel Heathburn, 
who was following. Presently, however, her true situa- 
tion began to dawn upon her. She heard her father ex- 
plain to a lady, who seemed interested, that his daughter 
had just come from the death-bed of a very dear 
friend, and had fainted from grief and exhaustion. 
Majella did not deny the statement. Indeed, she was 
still too weak to question its truth. 

She never could remember the circumstances of that 
journey. She only knew that, after what seemed to her 
endless ages of suffering and suspense, they alighted at 
a station. She was placed in a cab and driven through 
a maze of city streets. When the vehicle stopped, her 
father lifted her out, carried her up a flight of steps, 
across a threshold, along a hall, and into a room where 
a breath of fresh air from an open window revived her 
somewhat. Laying her on a sofa, he called to some one, 
apparently in the adjoining room, “ Annette ! Annette !” 
The door opened, and Majella heard a quick, light step 
approach and pause beside her. 

“Annette,” continued Moranno, “this is my daugh- 
ter, whom I told you I should bring home to-night. 
She is not very well, as you can see. Give her some- 
thing to eat, and get her to her room as soon as possi- 
ble.” 

“ Lynola,” turning to the blind girl, “ this is my 
housekeeper, Annette and, without further explana- 
tion, he left the room. 

“ ni just throw this shawl over your shoulders. Miss 
Lynola. You may feel chilly after your journey. I’ll 
have some tea and toast ready for you in a minute.” 

“ Please don’t get anything for me. I couldn’t eat it. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


183 


Tell me where I am ? Who are you ? Why was I 
stolen away from my friends and brought to this dread- 
ful place ?” 

^‘You are in the city of Montgomery. I am the 
housekeeper here. You were stolen, as you call it, be- 
cause that was the easiest way to get you, and Mr. 
Moranno brought you here, because he is your father 
and has a right to you.” 

Annette went into the kitchen and, heedless of Majella’s 
protest, prepared a lunch, soliloquizing as she poured 
out the tea, — 

“ I can’t see, for the life of me, what he brought that 
pale-faced little thing here for. She’ll be of no earthly 
use ! Why, she’d faint away before she’d sung half a 
verse. To my mind, she’s not the sort of girl to go on 
the stage.” 

Having buttered the toast to her satisfaction, she re- 
turned to the sitting-room, and, taking a seat by the 
couch, said, — 

Here is the lunch. Now let me help you.” 

I really don’t think I can eat anything.” 

^‘Oh, yes, you can. It’s all nonsense to make your- 
self sick by refusing food. You are here, and have got 
to stay, and you might as well make the best of it. 
Come, drink this tea.” 

Majella was too weary and heart-sick to refuse. She 
drank the strong bitter fluid, so different from the bever- 
age which Maggie served at Mrs. Heathburn’s five 
o’clock tea. 

A few moments later the housekeeper led ‘her up- 
stairs to a small bed-chamber over the sitting-room, and, 
having helped to disrobe her, bade her good-night. 

When Annette came in the morning to dress her new 


84 


M A JELL A; OR, 


charge, she found her tossing restlessly on the bed, her 
cheeks flushed with fever, her hands hot and dry. 

“ Are you ill. Miss Lynola ?” she asked, in alarm. 

‘‘No; only trying to climb out of my grave, and the 
sand is so hot it burns my hands ! Take me away ! I 
want to go back to the dear old North. Did you know 
I was dead, Victor ? I died that day in the carriage 
when Lynola’s father stole me from Hill Grove. He 
buried me in the sand and never filled up my grave. 
All day long. the hot sun shines down upon me, until 
my face is scorched and brown. Take me home, Victor, 
and bury me under the big snow-drifts down by the 
willows, where you told me that you loved me, that day, 
long ago. Maybe the brook will soothe me to sleep, 
and the snow will cool my face and hands. 

“ Lean down closer, Victor. There is something I want 
to tell you. I know who I am, now. I’m the daughter 
of a Spanish cavalier. My father is a cruel, hard man. 
He broke my mother’s heart. She was Madelon, beau- 
tiful Madelon, whom Colonel Heathburn loved so well. 
She is in heaven now, and I’m going to her just as soon 
as it is dark, so the angels can come for me and nobody 
see them.” 

That was the beginning. For weeks Majella raved in 
delirium, always calling for Victor, and begging him to 
take her from that grave in the sun-scorched sand and 
lay her under the snow. 

Yet she did not die. Slowly, reluctantly, her weary 
feet turned back from “ the valley of the shadow” and 
climbed once more the hill-slope of life. 

She never spoke of the old days now or expressed a 
wish to return to Laurellawn. When at first she had 
mentioned the subject, her father had told her in a harsh. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


185 


angry voice that she would never see the Heathburns 
again, never hear anything in regard to them, and, if she 
made the slightest effort to inform them of her where- 
abouts, he would put her in a convent. 

She resolved to wait patiently until time, or fate, or 
Providence, should open her prison-doors and set her 
free ; for, to her, the cottage was a prison. Like the 
lowest criminal, she was forbidden to go outside the 
yard without the permission of her keepers. 

One day, in autumn, her father explained to her his 
principal reason for taking her from her friends. 

I heard you sing at Hill Grove,” he said, “ and I 
saw at once you had a fine voice. That, together with 
your fair face and blindness, would win your way any- 
where. Your mother was no mean actress, and, as for 
me, I doubt if Paris has yet forgotten Moranno, the 
tenor. This evening the manager of a large theatrical 
troupe will be here to hear you sing, and, if he is satis- 
fied, will engage you for the season.” 

Majella listened attentively to her father’s remarks, 
and, when he had finished, she said calmly, — 

“ One evening, as I was sitting with Colonel Heath- 
burn, I chanced to mention the life of an actress, and said 
that when I grew up I should like to go on the stage.” 

“ ^ Mella,’ he answered, sternly, ‘ I would rather see 
you buried in yonder graveyard than to have you appear 
in a public theatre. Kneel down here beside me and 
promise that, by the help of God, you will never be- 
come a professional actress.’ I made that promise when 
a child. Now I am a woman. I shall not break it.” 

“ Whati you refuse to obey me?” 

“ I refuse to go upon the stage.” 

“ You shall. It was for that I brought you here. I 

13 


MAJELLA; OR, 


1 86 

will not be trifled with. You shall sing for the manager, 
and shall join the company.” 

“ Father, you can punish ; you can torture ; you can 
murder me, if you will, but you cannot force me to 
break my word.” 

“ She has her mother’s abominable will,” he muttered, 
as he strode away. “ You might as well try to move 
Mont Blanc. I was a fool to bring her here. I might 
have known how it would be, but, now I’ve got her, that 
prig of a Heathburn shall not have the satisfaction of 
knowing I’m sick of my bargain. 

“ Kindness was the only method that could succeed 
with Madelon. Perhaps I’d better try that with her. 
I may be able to manage her some time.” 

In accordance with this resolve he entered the sitting- 
room on the spring morning to which we referred in the 
beginning of this chapter, and, as he approached Majella, 
remarked, — 

“ I’ve a plan for you, Lynola. Shall I tell you about 
it ?” 

Yes, if you wish,” she answered, wearily. 

“ I don’t think you ought to remain in the city during 
the summer, so I’ve arranged to take you up the Missis- 
sippi, to a pretty little village called Riverdale.” 

“ Will Annette accompany me ?” she asked, with a 
faint glow of interest. 

“ Certainly. You cannot stay there alone, and my 
business will keep me most of the time in town.” 

Majella turned to the window to hide her disappoint- 
ment. She feared and disliked Annette ; she could not 
understand her position in the household. As to her 
father, she knew comparatively nothing in regard to his 
life or habits. She sometimes wondered what business 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 8 / 

it could be which could only be transacted in the even- 
ing. But she asked no questions. 

Five weeks later she and Annette left for Riverdale, 
where they spent the summer. Mr. Moranno only 
joined them occasionally. 

Majella’s health improved, if her spirits did not. The 
rose color came back to her cheeks and the elasticity to 
her step. 

One evening, about a month after her return to Mont- 
gomery, when her father had gone down town as usual, 
leaving her in charge of Annette, there was a ring at the 
door-bell. The housekeeper answered it, and admitted 
a visitor, with whom she carried on a whispered conver- 
sation in the hall. In a few minutes she entered the 
sitting-room and said, in a hesitating voice, — 

“ Miss Lynola, an old friend has called and wants me 
to go to the theatre with him. I don’t know what to do 
with you.” 

“ Why, just leave me where I am. I am safe.” 

“Yes, and if you should run away, a pretty rumpus 
there’d be.” 

“ I won’t run away. Did you ever know me to break 
my word ?” 

“ No, never.” 

“ Well, then, Fll promise you I’ll not leave the house, 
or try to see any one. Now go and get ready.” 

“Will you promise not to tell your father a word 
about my going ?” 

“ Yes, if you wish, I promise,” the girl answered, eager 
to escape even for a brief period from her distasteful 
companion. 

Fifteen minutes later Annette went down the steps, 
accompanied by a stylishly-dressed little man, who swung 


i88 


MAJELLA; OR, 


his cane, shrugged his shoulders, and rattled ofif French 
in the most approved manner. 

Alone for the first time in almost two years, under no 
watchful eye, no restraining hand, Majella’s spirits ros^e 
with the occasion. Yet she had no thought of escape. 
She had given her word, and, like the laws of the Medes 
and Persians, that was irrevocable. “ I’ll make believe I’m 
back at Laurellawn,” she whispered, “ and sing the old 
songs that Victor and Judge Kingston, my grandfather, 
I mean, loved so well.” 

She sat down at the piano and began to sing softly. 
Presently her voice rose and expanded until the whole 
house seemed filled with melody. Time and place were 
no more. She was lost in the maze of her music, which 
carried her back to the days that were gone, “ the 
dreamy, leisurely, long ago.” 

“ Majella !” The word rang through the room like 
the chime of a bell. 

A crash in the music, a break in the song, and the 
blind girl sprang to her feet, exclaiming, “ Retta ! Retta ! 
You have found me at last!” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 
retta’s visit. 

“ My darling 1 my poor, lost darling 1” Retta kept re- 
peating, as she clasped the girl in her arms, and laughed 
and cried over her as a mother might have done. 

Where have you been all this weary while ?” she 
asked, when she had regained self-control somewhat 


NAMELESS A ND BL IND, - 1 89 

and sat down on the sofa with her arm about Majella. 
“ Don’t you know Victor’s been hunting the world over 
and almost breaking his heart for you ? Why, he 
Ayouldn’t believe it when we all knew you were drowned, 
and you wasn’t, any of the time ! What did become of 
you, lyfella? Why did you go away so strangely, and 
what are you doing here alone ?” 

“ I’ll answer your question in a minute, Retta ; but tell 
me first, where is Victor ?” 

“ Where ? You might as well ask, ‘ Where is the wind 
that blew yesterday ?’ He was in France the last I heard 
of him. He may be in Central Africa now. He cer- 
tainly is, if there has been even a rumor of a white girl 
being kidnapped by the natives ; but of one thing you 
may be sure, wherever he is, he is looking for you. Now 
tell me about yourself.” 

Majella related her story briefly. When she had 
finished, Retta exclaimed, — 

“ Why, it’s the strangest thing I ever heard of! Your 
grandfather Judge Kingston, and your mother Colonel 
Heathburn’s old sweetheart I It’s a regular romance, 
and you are a heroine !” 

“ I hope the closing chapters may not be so sad as the 
opening ones,” Majella said, thoughtfully. “ But tell me 
the news, Retta. I haven’t heard a word from Laurel- 
lawn.” 

“ There isn’t much to tell. Colonel and Mrs. Heath- 
burn are still in Europe, where they went immediately 
after Louise’s marriage.” 

“ Louise 1 Whom did she marry ?” 

“ Jasper Allingford, to be sure.” 

“ Oh, Retta I You don’t mean to say she married that 
wicked man ?” 


190 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“Certainly; but why do you call him wicked?” 

“ Because he is not fit to live ! He ought to be hung ! 
He murdered his uncle.” 

“ Majella ! are you crazy ?” 

“ No, I’m perfectly sane, — on that point, at least. 
Listen, my dear ; I will explain.” And Majella repeated 
the conversation she had overheard the night before 
Thomas Allingford’s death. 

“ Why did you not tell this at the time ?” Retta asked, 
in horror; then added, “ It would have sent him to the 
gallows.” 

“ I was not present when he told his story. After- 
wards I hadn’t the courage to condemn him. It seemed 
to me there was trouble enough. ‘ God will do him 
justice,’ I said, and kept my secret. I know now I should 
have spoken. It would have saved Louise from marrying 
a villain.” 

“ I’m not so sure of it,” Retta answered. “ It was the 
money she wedded. But to go on with my news. Harley 
is in the West, — New Mexico, I think. He did not say 
much when he heard of your disappearance. People 
thought maybe he didn’t care ; but, Mella, I believe, 
down deep in his heart, Harley cares as much as Victor.” 

Majella shook her head decidedly, and, to change the 
subject, said, — 

“ Tell me about yourself, Retta. How did you happen 
here to-night ?” 

“ Providence, my dear. Nothing less. Edwin has 
rented the cottage next to this. They are going to spend 
the winter here. Grandma Grey and I start to-morrow 
for New York, thence to Paris, where I am going on 
with my music. She has given her consent at last, and 
I am to be an actress. Don’t look so shocked, my dear. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


19 


I know you don’t approve, but it’s my one talent, and I 
can’t afford to bury it. As to how I came here. Lucy 
was helping the new nurse to take care of little Naomi, 
who isn’t very well ; Edwin had gone down town, and 
grandma to bed. I stepped out on the porch to get a 
breath of air, when I heard you singing and recognized 
your voice at once. I don’t know how I got here ; but 
here I am. Now, let me get you ready and take you 
home with me. When that cross old Annette comes 
back, she’ll find her bird flown.” 

“ No, Retta,” Majella said, quietly; “ I’ve promised to 
stay here.” 

“ What ! Now you’re found, are you still going to be 
lost?” 

“ I hope not, dear ; but I cannot go with you now. 
You must not tell the Brooklynes, nor even your grand- 
mother, where you have been. If my father knew old 
friends were hear he vrould put me in the convent at 
once. Besides, they have no claims upon me ; but Victor 
has. If he knew. I’m sure he would come and take me 
away in spite of everything. Couldn’t you write to him, 
Retta ?” 

Certainly I could. The only difficulty is, I don’t 
know where to direct. But let me see. I might send 
the letter to Louise and have her forward it. She is the 
only one of the family whose address I know. Would 
that be right ?” 

“ Yes, I think so. Louise never liked me very well, 
but of course she wouldn’t refuse to forward a letter.” 

“ Of course not. I’ll write this very night.” 

“ That reminds me, Retta,” Majella said, taking out a 
dainty purse. “ Here is a note which Blanche wrote the 
day before she died, and told me to give to Captain Nor- 


192 


M A JELL A; OR, 


field after the funeral. I think you had better take it. 
You can send or give it to him, and I can do neither. 
Besides, it has some reference to you. I remember she 
mentioned your name, though in my own trouble and 
sickness I had almost forgotten it. The note may be 
useless now. It has been a long time, you know. Perhaps 
you had better read it, then you can judge for yourself.” 

Retta took the note and slipped it in her pocket. 

“ I must go now,” she said ; “but will not you come, too? 
ril call up grandma. We’ll start for New York in half 
an hour. From there we will take the first steamer out- 
ward bound. Having crossed the ocean, we’ll find Victor. 
You shall be married in some pretty little church. Then 
you can defy the whole world. Mella, won’t you come ?” 

The blind girl hesitated. Something seemed to whis- 
per, “ It is your last chance.” She rose to her feet, her 
lips parted as if to speak. Just then the gate clicked, and 
Annette’s voice was heard bidding her escort good-night. 

“ Quick, Retta ! She’s coming. Get out of the side 
window, and, dear, you will write to Victor?” 

“ Yes, I’ll write. You won’t have long to wait. Good- 
by, my darling !’’ 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

WAITING. 

Found, found at last, after the weary months of lone- 
liness and desolation ; after the hope, the fear, and the 
despair, the prison-doors were to open and set the captive 
free. 

Victor was coming to take her home. Never for a 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


193 


moment did she doubt his loyalty, his joy at receiving 
Retta’s letter, or his immediate journey to Montgomery. 
She counted the days, even the hours, th^t must elapse 
before he could reach her. Now she fancied he was in 
Paris, then in Liverpool, or on the ocean; and again in 
New York, or, perhaps, even in that city, — in that very 
street. 

She strained her ears to catch the sound of the familiar 
footstep, and started violently when the door-bell rang. 
But it was only Annette’s old friend, who called quite 
frequently now, always when Mr. Moranno was absent. 

“ Lynola,” that gentleman said to his daughter, one 
evening, when his business did not require his presence 
down town, “ I met an old acquaintance to-day, a gentle- 
man I haven’t seen in three years. I shouldn’t wonder 
if he’d be up to call on us.” 

“ Who is he ?” Majella asked. 

“ His name is Delmayne. A nice young bachelor. I be- 
lieve he’s considered quite a catch. Ah, there he is now !” 

A moment later the visitor entered the room. 

“ My dear, permit me to introduce my old friend, 
Lewis Delmayne. Delmayne, this is my daughter, 
Lynola.” 

“ Miss Moranno, I can hardly find words in which to 
express the pleasure this meeting affords me, and, as I 
possess your father’s friendship, may I not, in time, aspire 
to the honor of winning yours also ?” 

Majella made an inaudible reply. It was evident her 
first impression was unfavorable; but why? She could 
not see his cunning blue eyes, or his shrewd, cynical 
smile. It was simply because the visitor’s voice reminded 
her of a man whom she believed had deliberately mur- 
dered another. 


194 


MAJELLA; OR, 


There certainly was a great resemblance between 
Lewis Delmayne’s voice and that of Jasper Allingford. 
The blind girl, accustomed to recognize friends by their 
tones alone, noticed and wondered at it. Still, Mr. Del- 
mayne was not to blame for this similarity, and should 
not be punished for one of nature’s freaks. Besides, she 
could afford to be generous. 

She would soon be at Laurellawn, safe from all trouble 
and distrust. Majella thought of all this while the gentle- 
men discussed the popularity of Lobalfs restaurant, and 
wondered if it would continue. 

When their guest asked her to sing, she complied with 
unusual readiness. Mr. Delmayne declared her singing 
was the finest thing he had heard off the stage. 

“ Miss Moranno,” he said, as he rose to go, “ will you 
not give me permission to come and hear you sing some- 
times? You cannot understand how pleasant it is for 
one who has no mother, or sister, or home of his own, to 
spend even a half hour in an atmosphere like this.” 

Majella gave permission reluctantly. If she had had 
any good reason for doing so she would gladly have 
withheld it, for, try as she would, she could not over- 
come the distrust which she felt towards her father’s 
friend. 

Lewis Delmayne evidently believed in improving op- 
portunities. Almost every evening found him at the 
Moranno cottage, sitting in the shadowy corner while 
Majella sang the sweet old ballads of her childhood. 
What there was in the girl’s voice, face, or manner that 
attracted him, he could not have explained even to him- 
self ; but never before, in all his wild, reckless life, had 
he fallen so completely under the sway of a woman. It 
might have been the subtle power of truth, purity, and 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


195 


goodness which pervaded the atmosphere where the* 
blind girl dwelt, just as the fragrance from the rose on 
the window-sill penetrated to every nook and corner of 
the room. 

Majella endured his presence from a sense of duty. 
She believed him to be a man without home or friends, — 
a bad man, she, feared. When he was in her sitting-room, 
listening to her music, he was safe. Would it be right 
to drive him out into the sins and temptations of that 
wicked city ? Would it be generous to refuse him these 
half hours of sunshine, as he called them ? Might she 
not exert an influence for good that would last until 
eternity ? Had not God sent this work with which to 
busy her idle brain and pass the weeks of waiting ? 
Majella thought so. He seemed to admire, to reverence 
her. Could she not lead his wandering feet into the 
paths of right? 

Poor child ! She had not yet learned how often the 
serpent comes to visit us in the form of a dove. Satan, 
with his horns hidden by a crown of flowers! One 
morning Majella waited in vain for Annette to help her 
dress, as usual. P'inally completing the task herself, she 
went down to the dining-room, where she found her 
father pacing around the table in a state of great excite- 
ment. 

“ She’s gone !” he exclaimed ; “ gone, bag and baggage, 
with that villain 1” 

“ Who has gone?” inquired his daughter. 

Annette, the thankless jade I This is the way she 
repays the kindness of years. This is my reward for 
saving her from the street.” 

With whom has she gone ?” 

That oily-tongued Frenchman, of course. I knew 


196 


MAJELLA; OR, 


he was sneaking about the place. I should like to know 
what’s to be done? A pretty mess affairs are in.” 

“ I suppose you’ll have to get another housekeeper,” 
replied Majella, who did not seem at all alarmed by the 
dire- calamity. ” Aunt Sally can do the heavy work, and 
if you can get some one to take care of me and attend 
to the lighter duties, all can go on as before.” 

“A nice time I’ll have getting some one to take care 
of you. Lynola, why can’t you be sensible ? Why can’t 
you be contented ? Am I not kind ? Haven’t you a 
pleasant home ?” 

“ Have I entered any complaint, sir?” 

“ Your face is a continual complaint; but there is no 
use arguing. I’ve just received a letter from Delmayne 
containing an offer. If you will accept it, all will yet be 
well.” 

” An offer of what ?” 

“ Of marriage, of course.” 

“ Marriage ! Whom does he wish to marry ?” 

“You, to be sure. You must have known he was in 
love.” 

“ I never dreamed of such a thing,” the girl said, 
slowly. 

“ Really, Lynola, I gave you credit for more sense. 
It seems to me that if I were blind, deaf, and dumb. I’d 
know a fellow was in love with me if he showed it as 
plainly as Del has. But the question now is, will you 
marry him ?” 

” No, sir; I will not.” 

And why not ?” 

“ Because I’m engaged to Victor Heathburn.” 

“But you can never marry him. You will never see 
him again.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


197 


“ Then I will never marry any one/’ Majella answered, 
rising from her untasted breakfast and leaving the room 
. with the air of an offended queen. 

“ There it goes again,” muttered her father. “ What a 
fool I was, to be sure. I never can manage her, and 
there’s no use trying. I’ll telegraph Victor Heathburn 
this very day, and tell him if he wants her he can come 
and get her in welcome, for I’m sick of the whole 
.business and he strode from the house fully intending 
to carry out his resolution. 

As he went down the steps he noticed a carriage 
standing at his next-door neighbor’s gate. Into the 
vehicle Edwin Brooklyne was helping his wife and 
daughter. The two men had met at the club, and were 
on friendly terms ; so, as he approached the artist, Julian 
Moranno paused, and asked, — 

“ Are you going to leave us, Brooklyne ?” 

“ Yes. We start for California this morning. My 
health has been failing ever since we came to Mont- 
gomery, and the doctors have advised a trip to the 
Pacific coast.” 

Take your family and servants with you, I suppose ?” 

My family, — yes ; but only one servant. By the 
way, you don’t know of a good place for a girl, do you ? 
Nurse, lady’s-maid, dining-room girl ; in fact, I think she 
could do almost anything.” 

“ Why, let me see. My daughter needs some one to 
wait upon her. If the girl suits, I might take her for a 
while at least.” 

“Well, here she comes; you can judge for yourself 
Recie,” to a slender young girl who came down the walk 
leading little Naomi, “ here is a gentleman in whose 
family you can find employment for the present.”*^ 


MAJELLA; OR, 


198 

The nurse raised her bright, dark eyes and fixed them 
on the stranger. After a critical glance she shrugged her 
shoulders ; but whether with pleasure or displeasure it 
was impossible to say. 

“ What is your name, my girl ?” Moranno asked. 

“ Theresa Strawson, sir.” 

“ Where do you live ?” 

“ Near Lancaster, Pennsylvania.” 

“ Do you think you could wait upon my daughter and 
do some of the light housework ?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ We live next door. Will you come and see Miss 
Moranno at once ?” 

Theresa nodded and followed him. They entered the 
room where Majellawas seated at the piano, singing one 
of the good old hymns. 

“ My dear,” he said, approaching his daughter, “ this 
is Theresa Strawson. If she suits, she is to be your 
maid.” 

“ Would you like to wait upon me ? I am blind and 
require a good deal of attention. Besides, you will have 
to help with the lighter housework. Do you think you 
would like to stay, Theresa ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am ; I should like to very much. But call 
me Recie, please. Aunt Christine does. You see,” she 
continued, speaking rapidly, we live all alone in a little 
cottage a few miles from Lancaster. We are poor, and 
I wanted to earn some money. So when Mrs. Brook- 
lyne’s little girl got sick, and they had to spend two weeks 
at the hotel, I went to be the nurse. They brought me 
here, and they’d have kept me, only they had to go to 
California. If I have to go home now it will take all my 
wages. Please keep me; I’ll do my very best.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 1 99 

“ I’m sure you will, Rede. Father, I think we had 
better keep her.” 

“ Very well. Consider yourself engaged at the same 
wages Brooklyne paid. Go get your things, and begin 
your duties at once. 

“ But remember, Lynola,” he continued, turning to his 
daughter as the new maid left the room, “the past is 
buried. You are not to breathe a word of it to this girl. 
Let me but suspect that you are making a confidante of 
her, and the rest of your life shall be spent within the 
walls of a convent.” 

“ Never fear,” she answered, almost merrily. In her 
relief at being free from the detested Annette, she felt 
positively happy. Only one thing troubled her. Where 
was Victor? A month, six weeks, two months had 
passed, and he had not come. 

Still, with the simple faith of her childhood, she knelt 
each night and morning, and prayed, “ God help me to 
wait patiently !” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

LOSING FAITH. 

Lewis Delmayne did not seem disheartened at 
Majella’s refusal. Indeed, it appeared to have little 
effect upon his spirits. He and her father had a long 
talk, one afternoon, in a little parlor back of Lobalfs 
restaurant. At its close, both men seemed perfectly 
satisfied with themselves. 

“ I tell you what, Del, you’re a sharper,” Moranno 


200 


MAJELLA; OR, 


remarked, as they parted at the cprner, but, ’pon my 
soul, I believe you’ll win.” 

“ Not a doubt of it, mon ami ; I know how to play my 
cards. I’ll have the bird caged in less than a month, if 
that cat of a Strawson don’t put in her paw. I’ll give 
her a walking ticket when I hold the reins.” 

“ Well, manage affairs to suit yourself, but go slowly, 
my boy, go slowly. It’s no common girl you’ve got to 
deal with. Lynola’s got her father’s brains.” 

“ I wondered what had become of them. Well, good- 
by, old man. I’ll see you later. Attend to your own 
part in the play, and don’t forget to make yourself 
scarce when the evening papers are read. The shock 
might be too much for your nerves, you know. By 
George, it’s a risky business !” he muttered, as he strolled 
away. 

“They say murder will out, and, if this -little game 
is made public, it will be mighty bad for me; but I’m in 
it, and I may as well go through. They can’t hang me, 
that’s one consolation.” 

That evening the elegant Delmayne sauntered up the 
avenue and rang the bell at the Moranno cottage. A 
few moments later he was seated in the pretty sitting- 
room opposite Majella. 

How beautiful she was ! Her black dress — she nearly 
always wore black now — enhanced the exquisite fairness 
of her complexion. Her hair, which Recie had let down 
because her head ached, hung in shining waves far 
below her waist, and was held back by a knot of coral 
ribbon, the only bit of color about her. As she arose 
to greet her visitor, she held in her hands a bunch of 
cream roses which he had sent up an hour before. 

“I must thank you for these beautiful flowers, Mr. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


201 


Delmayne,” she said. “ They are very lovely, but you 
ought not to have sent them to me.” 

“Ought not, Lynola? I beg your pardon. Miss Mo- 
ranno; but when the image is always in my heart, it 
is little wonder that sometimes the name rises unbidden 
to my lips. No, don’t look frightened. I did not come 
here to plead my cause. I know you are as far above 
me as those roses are above the soil in which they grew. 
But surely you’ll not drive me from this sanctuary of 
rest because I have dared to worship at the shrine of its 
divinity?” 

“Please do not speak in that way. It is positively 
irreverent.” 

“ Pardon me, again. I seem bound to make mistakes, 
to-night. I think I had better go at once. My pres- 
ence only annoys you.” 

“ No, no !” Majella interrupted, ever unwilling to give 
offence; “ I did not mean to drive you away. You may 
stay, if you will be content with my respect, my friend- 
ship. I cannot offer more, for they are all I have to 
give.” 

“ I will try,” he answered, sadly; “ but you don’t know 
how hard it is. You can’t understand.” 

“ No, I ’ cannot understand. There are so many 
women in the city, beautiful, rich, and accomplished. 
Why should you turn from them all and choose me, 
poor, blind, and sad?” 

He had asked himself the question a dozen times 
before, but now he answered frankly, — 

“ It’s because you are a true woman, and they are 
shams !” 

Majella flushed with pleasure. What girl in the 
world would not ? 


14 


202 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ Shall I sing for you ?” she asked. 

No,” he said, gently ; “ your head aches. It would be 
cruel to let you sing just to please me. It’s my duty to 
amuse you. What shall I do ? Would you like me to 
read the evening papers ?” 

“Yes, very much,” she replied, closing her eyes with 
a sense of relief. 

“ Well, which do you prefer ?” 

“ It does not make the least difference.” 

“ Ah, here is the New York Stm. I didn’t know your 
father took that ?” 

“ He does not. He purchased that copy to read some 
political speech, I believe.” 

“ Shall I read it to you ?” 

“ The speech ? Oh, no ! I have not taken any interest 
in politics since — since I came South.” 

“ Well, here is something that will suit you. Wash- 
ington life. Gayeties of the capital. Beautiful costumes 
of the ladies.” 

“ No, thank you,” with a smile ; “ I’m not particularly 
interested in society news.” 

“ I fear you are hard to suit. Ah, here it is at last ! 
A long list of marriages. Girls are always interested in 
them. Besides, as you were formerly from the North, 
there may be some old acquaintances among them. I’ll 
run over the names, and if there is any one you know. 
I’ll read the full notice. Smith and Jones, Belden and 
Clark, Davis and Brown, Heathburn and Kingston ” 

“ What ! — what did you say ?” 

“ Heathburn and Kingston. Did you know them ?” 

“ I — I once knew them. Read it, please.” 

“ I fancy it’s the names, not the people, you know ; 
for this seems to be a foreign affair. At any rate, it’s 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 203 

clipped from the London Times. However, I’ll read 
it. 

“ ‘ Heathburn — Kingston. At St. Luke’s M. E. Church, 
London, England, on December 24, 18 — , by Bishop S. 
C. Black, D.D., LL.D., Richard Victor, eldest son of 
Colonel Heathburn, of Glen Oberon, Pa., U.S.A., and 
Miss Annie Gertrude, niece of Judge James Kingston, 
of Interlaken, Pa., U.S.A.’ 

“ Why, Miss Moranno ! You are as white as a ghost. 
Did you know them ?” He might as well have spoken 
to the statue of Juno, looking down at him from her 
niche over the piano, as to the girl who lay among the 
cushions, limp and white as a broken lily. 

‘‘ There, Miss Lynola, you’re better now. Drink this 
wine and try to sleep.” 

‘‘ Am I ill, Recie?” 

Oh, no; nothing serious. The room was warm, and 
you fainted, you remember.” 

“ I thought it was cold. I felt the ice on my heart. 
It’s there still. Are we alone, Recie ?” 

“ Yes, dear. Your father and Mr. Delmayne went 
down town as soon as you were better. It was very 
important, they said.” 

“ I’m glad they’re gone ! I want to tell you some- 
thing. I think my heart will break unless I unburden it 
to some one. Come, sit beside me and take my hands 
in yours. They feel so cold and numb.” 

Recie took the low rocker by the bed, and held the 
chilled hands in hers, while she li.stened to Majella’s story. 

When it was finished, she exclaimed, — 

“It’s a shame, a burning shame, for him to marry 
somebody else ! Pie ought to be punished, and I hope 
he’ll be as unhappy as — as ” 


204 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“Recie!” Majella cried, sitting up in bed, her cheeks 
flushed with anger. “ Don’t let me hear you speak dis- 
respectfully of Victor Heathburn again. He’s the grand- 
est, noblest man in the world, and I’ve loved him all 
my life ! All my hopes and dreams have been for him. 

And now ” sinking back among the pillows with a 

sob of despair. 

“And now he’s gone and married some one else, just 
because you’re lost for a little while !” sneered Recie. 

“ It is not a little while,” Majella answered, wearily. 
“It is two whole years. But I did not believe that 
Victor would forget me in a century. It’s all over, Recie. 
I’ve lost my faith in my earthly idol, and I’ve lost my 
faith in God. Why has He wrecked my life so ? Was it 
not enough that my mother’s heart should break ; that 
she should be buried without song or prayer; that I 
should be cast upon the charity of strangers ; that for 
years the shadow of disgrace should darken my way ; 
that I should stand by the death-bed of one I loved as a 
sister, and then that I should be stolen from all I held 
most dear on earth ? Ah, my cup of sorrow was already 
full ! How can I drink the last, most bitter drop of all ?” 

“ God will help you, my dear. When He gives too 
large a cross He helps carry it himself. Shall I kneel 
down here beside you and pray that He may help you, 
now ?” 

“Yes; pray that I may die this very night, while the 
wind is wailing through the sky and the darkness is 
everywhere; pray that I may wander away into the 
great unknown — on and on, through endless fields of 
space, till memory is lost, mind is exhausted, and the 
soul is ready for rest. Then let me lie down and sleep, 
sleep forever.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


205 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

YIELDING. 

Majella’s wish was not granted. God did not call 
her away in that black night of despair ; and though 
through the week that followed she doubtless suffered 
enough mental agony to die many times had it been 
physical pain, yet the mysterious lamp we call life burned 
on, and at last the earth-sick soul was reconciled. One 
morning, as she lay on the sofa by the low southern win- 
dow while Recie arranged a basket of flowers which Mr. 
Delmayne had just sent up, Majella broke the silence by 
saying, in a slow, thoughtful tone, — 

“Yes, I am. glad God did not let me die, did not 
answer my wicked prayer. While there are flowers, 
birds, and sunshine, life cannot be all darkness, even to 
me.” 

“ It seems to me,” said Recie, who was more of a com- 
panion than a maid, “ that if most girls had your chance, 
they’d think life anything but dark.” 

“ My chance ! What do you mean ?” 

“ Why, Mr. Delmayne, of course. He’s awfully in love 
with you, and if I were you I’d marry him.” 

“ It is impossible, Recie. I respect Mr. Delmayne. I 
am sorry if I have caused him pain ; but I cannot marry 
him, for I do not love him.” 

“ Do you believe in love. Miss Lynola ?” 

“ Why, certainly I do.” 


206 


M A JELL A; OR, 


Well, I don’t. It’s all very well in novels. It sounds 
beautiful to read how people fall so desperately in love 
with each other, that they’re ready to die, and all that. 
But I don’t believe there’s any such thing in real life ; or, 
if there is, it don’t last long. When I marry, it will be 
simply for money.” 

“ Recie, how can you talk so ! It is wrong, — wicked.” 

Maybe it is, but I can’t help it. I’ve seen enough of 
romance. There’s Aunt Christine, now. She wrecked 
her life upon a man. I don’t know just how, for she 
never will tell me that story. Your mother gave up her 
chance to be Mrs. Colonel Heathburn for a floating fancy 
she’d rhistaken for love ; and you — don’t be angry, dear, 
— are following in her footsteps. I mean to profit by the 
experience of others, and never let my heart run away 
with my head. When I fall in love with somebody, just 
tell me of it, please.” 

That evening Mr. Moranno came home earlier than 
usual. , 

“ Are you alone, father ?” Majella asked, in some sur- 
prise. 

“Yes,” he replied, sadly. “You are not likely to be 
troubled with a visitor very soon, for Delmayne is sick, 
poor fellow !” 

“ Sick ! What is the matter with him ?” 

“ The doctors do not seem to know ; but I could tell 
them. It is his mind that is diseased. I have known 
for days that he was utterly hopeless and miserable. I 
wish he had never met you, Lynola. If he should not 
recover, I should feel, to some extent at least, that I was 
responsible for his death.” 

A week passed and Mr. Delmayne did not improve. 
Every report stated that he was rapidly failing. Majella 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 


207 


became anxious, her father almost frantic, while Recie 
expended all her eloquence in pleading the sick man’s 
cause. 

“ Lynola,” her father said, one afternoon, as he re- 
turned from his friend’s bedside, “ Delmayne cannot live 
more than a day or two at the longest. He has commis- 
sioned me to make a request which I feel sure you will 
grant, since it is his last, probably.” 

“ Certainly I will grant it. What is it ?” 

He wants you to marry him at once ?” 

“ Marry him! But what good can thatdoifh^mustdie?” 

“ He has a number of reasons. One, I think, is that 
you may inherit his property. He has no relations to 
whom he cares to leave it.” 

“ What 1 Marry him for his money ?” 

Oh, certainly not ; that’s merely a secondary con- 
sideration. But if he really wishes it, — if it will make 
him happier, if he can die easier, knowing you to be his 
wife, — why should you refuse ? The ceremony will only 
bind you a few days. Then, too, you have promised to 
grant his request.” 

“ Yes, I have promised. I will marry him.” 

An hour later Julian Moranno led his daughter up the 
long flight of stairs in the boarding-house, and knocked 
at Le^vis Delmayne’s door. 

“You will grant my request, — you will marry me?” 
the sick man whispered, as he held Majella’s hand. 

“ Yes, I will marry you, if you wish,” she answered, 
quietly. 

“ If I wish ? It is the one thing on earth I wish for I 
You don’t know what I have risked to win you I Heaven 
forbid that you should know.” 

“ Don’t get excited, Del,” Moranno said, stepping for- 


208 


MAJELLA; OR, 


ward ; “ it will soon be over. Betty,” turning to the 
nurse, “ has the priest arrived ?” 

“ Yes, sah. He in de pahlah, sah.” 

“ Tell him to come up at once ; the landlady, also. 
We shall want her as a witness.” 

“ Yes, sah,” and the attendant left the room. She soon 
returned, followed by a white-haired man and a matronly- 
looking woman, who paused on the threshold ; then with 
a little scream of joy rushed forward and caught the blind 
girl’s hands, as she exclaimed, — 

“ Thank the Lord you was not drowned in that dreadful 
pool, after all ! Miss Majella, Miss Mella, don’t you re- 
member me, — Mrs. Holden, that used to make your 
coffee just to suit at Hill Grove, where Miss Blanche died, 
poor darling? Don’t you remember me?” 

“ Indeed I do, Mrs. Holden ; but how did you happen 
to be here ?” 

“ Well, you see, after Miss Blanche died and you were 
drowned, I couldn’t bear to stay at Hill Grove. It seemed 
sort of scareful everywhere, so I sold the place and came 
here to keep boarders. But what became of you. Miss 
Majella, after you were drowned?” 

“ I was not drowned. That gentleman,” pointing to 
Moranno, “ is my father. It was he with whom I went 
away. We have been living here ever since.” 

“ And it is you who are going to marry the sick gentle- 
man ?” 

Yes ; it is I.” 

“ I thought you were going to marry Miss Blanche’s 
brother, whose photograph was always standing on your 
bureau, just as if you could see it.” 

“ That was a long time ago, Mrs. Holden. A great 
deal has happened since then.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


209 


The priest now came forward, opened his black book, 
and commenced reading in slow, solemn tones. The 
brief ceremony was soon over. The witnesses signed 
their names. Mrs. Holden offered her congratulations 
and expressed her pleasure, silently hoping God would 
not condemn her for the white lie she was telling. 

With a sudden chill of fear, Majella realized that she 
had passed forever through the mystic gates which lead 
from the fields of girlhood; that if the man by whose 
bedside she stood lived, she would be his wife ; and if he 
died, she would be his widow ; but never again the free, 
light-hearted girl of the olden time. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE PLOT. 

“ And now, my children, I must leave you for a short 
time,” Julian Moranno remarked, when the priest had 
departed and Mrs. Holden had hastened away to the 
kitchen ; “ I have an engagement this evening. Perhaps I 
had better bring Recie down to stay with you, Lynola ?” 

” Wait a moment , mon p'ere',' the sick man said. “ Lyn- 
ola can be of no use here. She looks tired to death 
now. You had better take her back to the cottage and 
let her have a good night’s rest. Lynola, go home with 
your father ; if I need you I will send for you.” 

Majella gladly prepared to obey her husband’s first 
command. 

Will you not give me one kiss before you go ?” he 
asked, as she drew on her gloves. 


210 


MAJELLA; OR, 


For a moment her face flushed indignantly. Then 
remembering that it was now his right, she leaned down 
and submitted to the unwelcome caress. 

Moranno wondered at Delmayne’s sending his wife 
away ; but, as he reflected, it was of little consequence. 
The sick man would live only a few days, and when he 
stepped off the stage of action, Lynola would be a wealthy 
widow, and he would naturally have the management of 
affairs. What a figure he would cut at Lobalfs when 
that haj)py day should dawn. How the moths would 
flutter about this figurative candle and singe their wings 
in its thoroughly literal flame. 

When the cab drove up before the Moranno cottage, 
Recie was on the steps ready to welcome the bride. In 
answer to her eager questions and congratulations, 
Majella only said, — 

“ Come up to my room, Recie. Put away my things. 
Bring me a cup of coffee, and then leave me alone. I 
am tired, and must try to sleep. Do not disturb me 
again to-night.” 

Recie obeyed her mistress in silence, and, though she 
looked wistfully at the tired face and heavy eyes, she did 
not urge her presence, knowing it would be useless. As 
Majella laid her aching head upon the pillow the clock 
in a neighboring steeple struck seven. When she again 
aroused to consciousness the same clock was striking 
twelve. Some one was pacing to and fro in the sitting- 
room beneath. It must be her father, who, having met 
his urgent engagement, had returned, and entered the 
house quietly in order not to disturb its inmates. But 
what was that ? Surely the click of the gate. Some one 
coming up the steps. A footfall on the piazza ; then tap, 
tap, tap at the long front window. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


2II 


Majella was interested, — not frightened. She slipped 
from the bed and stood listening attentively. She heard 
her father cross the room, open the window, and exclaim 
in a voice whose astonishment was plainly unfeigned, — 

“ Great heavens, Delmayne ! Are you mad ? What, 
in the name of all the furies, are you doing here ?” 

“ Come to have a confidential chat with my dear 
father, to be sure. Don’t be excited, old man. What’s 
the use of getting the house in an uproar? Where is 
Lynola ?” 

“ Asleep, I should hope. But I thought you sick, — 
perhaps dying.” 

I haven’t a doubt you wished the latter. But that’s 
where you got left. The game is up, and I have won. 
I’ve caged not only the wren, but the old owl himself. 
You can see well enough when you are shuffling cards 
down at LobalTs in the wee small hours ; but you’ve no 
more business to be out in broad daylight than one of 
the old screechers that used to haunt the highlands when 
I was a boy.” 

“ You don’t mean to tell me that you were not sick at 
all ?” 

“ Well, not exactl}^. I was slightly indisposed; nothing 
serious, you know. I looked badly, didn’t I ? And you 
thought it was the last act. Poor simpleton ! The play’s 
not half over.” 

“ But what was your object in practising such decep- 
tion ?” 

“ To win, of course. I saw, first, that though Lynola 
believed Victor Heathburn to be untrue, yet she would 
not marry me unless I could work upon her sympathies. 
I feared, second, that you were not as anxious for the 
match as you were two months ago. Third, and last (as 


212 


M A JELL A; OR, 


our old parson used to say), I knew you hadn’t any 
stamps to spare, and wouldn’t mind a few thousand 
extra, even if your daughter was a widow. So I played 
my little game. Good joke, wasn’t it ?” and the visitor 
indulged in a low laugh. 

By this time Majeila was kneeling near the window, 
her ear pressed to the matted floor. In the deep silence 
of the midnight the conversation could be heard dis- 
tinctly. 

“ You are a villain !” Moranno exclaimed. “ A mean, 
scheming rascal ; but your plot shall not succeed. I will 
take my daughter away. I will put the width of the world 
between you.” 

“ Excuse me, rnon pere ; but before that little trans- 
action takes place my wife and I shall begin our wedding 
tour. Please to remember I have something to say in 
regard to Mrs. Delmayne’s movements.” 

“ You insolent dog ! I’ve a mind to shoot you on the 
spot !” 

“ You’ll lose money by it. I made a will an hour ago, 
leaving Victor Heathburn as my wife’s guardian, and 
she’ll not be likely to object. Look here, Moranno, 
what’s the use of our quarrelling ? We are both villains. 
The only difference is, you are a few years older, and I 
am a few shades blacker. It has been a plot from begin- 
ning to end. It was you who suggested that if Lynola 
could be made to believe that Heathburn was married, 
all would be well. By the way, did she ever tell you 
how neatly I read that notice ?” 

“ No. But I have often wondered about it. How did 
you manage it ?” 

Easiest thing in the world. I looked over the mar- 
riages till I found one that suited me ; then read it to 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


213 


her. By George ! what would she say, I wonder, if she 
knew that, while the names I read from the paper were 
Heathburn and Kingston, the names printed were only 
Brown and Smith. But come, we must get down to 
business. There is no time to be wasted.” 

“ I fail to see the haste. Let us postpone the whole 
thing until to-morrow.” 

And have Victor Heathburn appear upon the scene ?” 

“ There is little danger of that. We have been here 
more than two years, and have heard nothing of the 
Heathburns.” 

“Unfortunately, however, they have heard something 
of you. Do you fancy I would have recovered so 
soon without a reason, and a good one, too? Victor 
Heathburn will be in Montgomery in less than twenty- 
four hours.” 

“ How do you know ?” 

“ By a letter which I received this evening. Now, the 
question is. What is to be done ? If you care to stay 
and meet him, you are welcome to do so. But as for 
me, I shall light out before noon to-morrow.” 

“ And leave Lynola with me ?” 

“ Not at all. I married Lynola for love, and where I 
go she shall go also. You can accompany us if you 
choose.” 

“ Where will we go ?” 

“ To California. There is an oculist in San Francisco 
who, I think, can restore Lynola’s sight. From there 
we will take one of the Pacific steamers, go to New 
Zealand or Australia, and begin a new life under the 
‘ Southern Cross.’ America shall know us no more 
forever.” 


214 


MAJELLA; OR, 


CHAPTER XXX 1. 

FLIGHT. 

“ Forever !” Majella echoed, as she arose from the 
floor, where she had been listening, almost breathlessly, 
to the unfolding of the plot. “ God grant it may be so ! 
That America may know you no more forever ! Ah, 
Lewis Delmayne, your joke was played well, your plan 
thoroughly developed ! Before noon, to-morrow, you 
will be far away, and so shall I.” 

With that perfect calmness which comes to some 
natures in the hour of emergency, the blind girl opened 
her wardrobe and took out a warm wrapper and a pair 
of slippers. These she put on and fastened with hands 
which did not tremble. Then, sitting down by the table, 
she waited until she heard the window open and close. 
Some one went down the steps. The gate clicked and 
the visitor was gone. Five minutes later, her father 
crossed the hall and entered the bedroom on the ground- 
floor, which he occupied. The clock in the steeple 
struck two. She afose and went out into the corridor. 
At Recie’s door she paused and knocked softly. 

“ What is it?” asked a sleepy voice. 

‘‘ It is I, Recie. Dress and come to my room at once.” 

In a remarkably short time the little maid appeared, 
lamp in hand. 

Sit down. I must tell you the situation, and you 
must help me.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 21 5 

Briefly as possible Majella explained the plot, whose 
revelation she had overheard by the merest chance. 

“ Now, what shall we do ?” she asked. 

Well, Miss Mella,” the girl said, adopting the old 
name, as she often did when they were alone, I’m 
sorry for the cross things I said about Mr. Victor. It 
seems to me we had better hide somewhere in the city 
until he comes, then ” 

“ No, Recie, I cannot meet Victor Heathburn. I 
cannot confess to him that, after all his care and trust 
and devotion, a few words from a stranger were sufficient 
to shatter my confidence. I cannot tell him how, in my 
weakness and folly, I have married a scoundrel, a villain. 
I am disgraced, degraded ; beneath even his pity.” 

Hush, dear, you shouldn’t say such dreadful things.” 

” But they are true, — terribly true. Oh, Recie ! where 
can I go to escape from it all ? Is there not some quiet 
corner in the world where I can steal away and forget the 
miserable past ?” 

“Yes, dear, there is. You can go home with me to 
Rose Cottage. It’s small and old ; the furniture is 
scanty. and the fare plain; but Aunt Christine will be 
good to you, and no one will think of looking for you 
there.” 

“ But I’ve no money to pay my board, scarcely enough 
to take me to Pennsylvania.” 

“ That doesn’t make any difference. We always have 
plenty to eat, if it’s not so very elegant.” 

“ But I thought you left home because you wanted to 
earn money.” 

“ So I did ; but not to buy bread and cheese with. I 
wanted to go to school, and Aunt Christine couldn’t 
afford to send me. When we get settled at home, you 


2i6 


M A JELL A; OR, 


can teach me, if you want to, and that will pay your way. 
Now you’ll go, won’t you ?” 

Yes, Recie, I will go, though I am afraid I shall 
never be able to repay your kindness.” 

“ Well, Miss Mella, we must take the first train that 
leaves the city;” and the maid hurried away, delighted 
with this chance to prove her affection for the mistress 
whom she had learned to love so passionately in the few 
weeks she had known her. 

In the early dawn of the April morning two black- 
robed figures stole cautiously from the Moranno cottage 
and, choosing the most unfrequented streets, made their 
way to the depot, where they purchased tickets for the 
first train going North. 

They might easily have been mistaken for nuns. Not 
even a close observer could have detected Majella’s girl- 
ish figure, draped as it was in a long loose cloak, or 
guessed how young and fair was the face hidden beneath 
the veil. As for Recie, not even a stray curl could be 
seen under the ugly black bonnet. 

They seemed timid and nervous, too, as women unac- 
customed to the rush and the whir of the busy world 
are apt to be. They walked hurriedly down the plat- 
form, and, pausing before a coach which had just arrived 
and from which a number of passengers were alighting, 
Recie asked, in a rather tremulous voice, — 

Is this our train, sir?” 

The conductor glanced at her ticket and shook his 
head. “ Farther down, on the other track,” he said, and 
turned to assist a lady with a pug dog under her arm, 
and a little girl clinging to her dress. 

Recie hesitated. Engines were puffing, bells were 
ringing, and baggage trucks rolling past in dangerous 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 21 / 

proximity to her toes; while the blind girl clung to 
her hand with the grasp of a terrified child. 

“ Can I be of any assistance to you, ladies ?” asked a 
clear, well-modulated voice. 

If you please, sir, tell us where to find our train,” 
Recie said, eagerly. She had caught a glimpse of the 
fair, handsome face, whose mingled strength and gentle- 
ness won the trust of women old and young. 

I think it is on the farther track. I will see you 
safely on board.” 

They followed him past the hot-breathed engine, over 
the treacherous tracks to the passenger-coach that stood 
in waiting. He helped Recie to the platform, then, taking 
Majella by the hand, he lifted her lightly to her compan- 
ion’s side, and, without waiting for their thanks, hastened 
away, wondering vaguely why that black-robed bit of 
femininity trembled and seemed so frightened when he 
assisted her into the car. 

” Recie,” Majella said, in a half-whisper, when the 
train had pulled out of the station, “ did you know 
him ?” 

Who ? The distinguished-looking gentleman who 
helped us on the train ? Of course not. Why do you 
ask ?” 

“ Because that was Victor Heathburn !” 


5 


2I8 


M A JELL A; OR, 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

ROSE COTTAGE. 

“ Now, Snoox, don’t you put your nose in that milk- 
bucket. Haven’t I taught you not to be snoopy?” 
and Miss Christine de Verre looked threateningly at 
the big yellow cat whose green eyes were fixed intently 
on a pail of foaming white milk. Evidently Snoox’s 
training had been thorough, for, with a little mew of 
resignation, he trotted away and began to sniff sus- 
piciously in a heap of clover which had been thrown 
down a moment before. 

There was nothing wonderful in the scene. Only an 
old-fashioned barn, with its straight, ladder-like stairs 
leading up to the well-packed mow, where the cobwebs 
swung from the time-stained beams and the mice held 
high carnival in the heaps of yellow straw. Below the 
fine hay was scattered like a carpet of feathers over the 
rough barn floor, while in their large clean stalls— Miss 
De Verre objected to stanchions — stood Bess and 
Golden, the tender-eyed cows who curved their graceful 
necks to watch the mistress whose gentle voice they knew 
so well. Close by, in its box-like nest. Star, the copper- 
hued calf, with the white spot on its forehead, lay nestled 
in the straw, while the wooden bucket, from which it had 
-sipped its supper, stood bottom-side up in the corner. 

Having filled the low mangers with hay and paused 
a moment to scratch the heads bent so coaxingly to her 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


219 


hands, Miss De Verre went out into the twilight, fol- 
lowed by the ever-watchful Snoox, to whom the milk 
in the pail was a reality, while the mice in the clover 
were not. 

The sweet, fresh dampness of early spring pervaded 
the atmosphere. Bursting buds, tender leaves, and rich 
young grass, all added their offering of fragrance to 
swell the incense of the evening sacrifice. 

It was only a few steps from the barn to the little 
brown cottage under the elms, — past the old red well, 
where the ferns grew out from the rough gray stones 
and dipped their feathery tips in the bucket as it rose, 
across the broad back porch, and into the kitchen, where 
a bright wood fire was burning. 

Miss Christine took a pine splinter from the mantel, 
held it in the fire until it blazed, then proceeded to light the 
tallow-candle, which stood in its brightly-polished socket 
on the table. 

For the next half hour the mistress of Rose Cottage 
was very busy. She strained the milk in the broad tin 
pans on the shelf, set down the blue saucer brimful for 
the waiting Snoox, rinsed and turned the pails to dry on 
the bench by the door, then brought in an armful of 
wood and a basket of* shavings for the morning fire. 

Having completed these homely tasks, she prepared 
her simple evening meal, and sat down at the little table 
with its speckless cloth and its quaint blue dishes, pol- 
ished until they shone even in the candle-light. 

“ Dear me ! That tea is as strong as lye !” she ex- 
claimed, as she poured out her favorite beverage. “ I 
must have put in a whole handful. I wonder what I 
was thinking of. One would suppose I expected com- 
pany. I ’most wish somebody would come ; it’s kind of 


220 


M A JELL A; OR, 


lonesome on a foggy night. I shouldn’t be ashamed of 
my supper, either. That bread is as white and flaky 
as a snow-drift, and as for the butter, well it’s as yellow 
as Golden herself. For the land sakes, if there ain’t 
some one knocking this minute ! A tramp, most likely. 
Well, I sha’n’t turn him away. I can remember when I 
was hungry myself.” 

Miss Christine arose, smoothed back her heavy black 
hair,^shQok the liayrseeds from her dress J and opened 
the door. A little cry escaped her lips as ^e beheld her 
visitor, while into her brown cheeks rose a flush which 
made her look more like a girl of twenty than a woman 
almost through her thirties. 

“ Dr. Vanberg ! Is it you ?” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, Christine;” and without waiting for an invita- 
tion, the grave German physician, to whom we introduced 
our reader as the guest of Victor Heathburn, entered the 
room, and taking the woman’s toil-hardened hands gazed 
earnestly into the dark eyes on a level with his own. 

“ Have you no welcome for me ?” he asked, dropping 
her hands and turning towards the fire. “ I thought, per- 
haps, you would be glad to see me after all these years.” 

“ You — you surprised me so,” she murmured, sinking 
into a chair and watching him with her wistful eyes. “ I 
thought you were still in Germany.” 

“I have been in New York for the past three years. 
About a week ago I received a letter from Uncle Fred- 
erick informing me that he was very ill, and begging me 
to come to him immediately. 

“ I started at once for Willow Road, where I arrived 
three days ago. This evening uncle is more comfortable, 
so I left him for a short time, and came to call on my old 
friend, and see if she would remember me.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


221 


You are very little changed,” Christine said, thought- 
fully. “ But I wonder you recognized me. Twelve 
years have made a great difference in my appearance. 
I’m old, gray, and ugly. People say I am beginning to 
bend under the weight of years.” 

“ No matter how old or gray you may be, no matter 
what people may say to me, you will always be the 
same, — the girl I learned to love in my youth; for whom 
I laid my plans and dreamed my dreams ; the girl who 
scorned my love when it was offered.” 

“ No, no : I did not scorn it,” the woman said, rising 
suddenly, while over her face fell a shadow of pain. “ I 
told you I had reasons, good reasons, for the answer I 
gave ; but why speak of it now ? It is over and gone 
forever.” 

“ Forever is a long, long while, my friend, Chris- 
tine,” coming quickly to her side. “ I have gained what 
the world calls success. Many a man envies me in 
my position, and yet my life is a failure, for while I 
have won the laurels, the flower I have wanted most has 
ever been beyond my reach. After all these years of 
absence, I have returned to ask you the same question I 
asked so long ago. Surely your answer will be different 
now. You have no duties to bind you here. The child 
for whom you had to care is grown to womanhood and 
gone away, leaving you alone. Tina, will you be my 
wife ?” 

“ What ! Would you, the famous physician, the friend 
of the rich and the noble, wed me^ poor, plain, and old ?” 

“ I would wed the woman I love !” 

‘‘ And ask no questions, require no explanation, never 
expect me to tell you the secret which people say lies 
hidden in my life?” 


222 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ ' Let the dead past bury its dead.’ Our life begins 
to-night. Come, Christine !” He held out his large 
white hand. She hesitated. Her slender brown fingers 
linked and unlinked in nervous haste. She took a step 
towards him. 

“ Why not ? Were not twenty years of penitence 
sufficient atonement for the folly of an untaught girl ? 
Did God intend our lives to be all a sacrifice ?” 

“ Carl, I can ” but the words died on her lips as 

the door opened and Recie entered the room, leading the 
blind girl by the hand. 

Miss De Verre’s tea was none too strong that night, 
for there were four, instead of one, to drink it. The 
girls were thirsty and hungry, too, after their long jour- 
ney, while Dr. Vanberg gladly accepted Christine’s in- 
vitation, and, sitting opposite her at the little round table, 
tried vainly to read in her face the end of that unfinished 
sentence. 

Recie introduced Majella as Miss More. She had 
intended to tell her aunt the true story at once, but when 
she saw a stranger in the room, with that rapidity of 
action so natural to her, she contracted the foreign name 
Moranno into the common one of More. 

If he’s a spy,” she said to herself, “ it may put him 
off the track, and if he’s not, it can do him no harm.” 

Miss De Verre wondered why her niece had returned 
so suddenly, and who her companion could be, but she 
asked no questions. 

Majella was very quiet. Of course, she remembered 
Dr. Vanberg’s name as well as his voice, but whether 
the recognition was mutual, she could not say. He 
made no reference to the past, and she hoped that three 
years had placed her beyond the danger of recognition. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


223 


When soon after supper he took his departure without 
betraying the least anxiety, she felt that she was safe. 
Victor Heathburn’s warmest friend had no suspicion 
that the pale-faced young woman in black was the time- 
changed girl for whom he had gathered his favorite 
German pansies all wet with the dew of the evening. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

MISS Christine’s story. 

Majella was mistaken : Carl Vanberg had not for- 
gotten. That night, as he sat in his low-roofed chamber, 
he muttered, — 

‘‘This is the strangest case I have ever been called 
on to attend. There’s Victor Heathburn, wandering the 
world over in search of his lost ward, and to-night, in 
this out-of-the-way country place, she walks in upon me 
as if it were an every-day occurrence. Only one fact 
seems clear, the lost Majella is found. But there 
are symptoms I do not understand. Why does she 
appear under a new flag ? Miss More^ indeed ! Does 
she think she can deceive me ? Well, I’ll lie low and 
watch the development of the case. Victor has waited 
two years. A few weeks more can make little differ- 
ence.” 

Christine de Verre watched Dr. Vanberg as he strode 
away through the April mist, just silvered by the rising 
moon. T.hen she returned to the fire, where the girls 
were waiting. 

“ Now, auntie, I want to tell you all about it,” Recie 


224 MAJELLA; OR, 

said. “ You must promise to be patient, for I’m no good 
at story-telling.” 

Her aunt gave the promise, and kept it, too. 

For the next half hour she sat almost motionless while 
her niece related Majella’s strange history, commencing 
with that stormy night when the sad-faced woman with the 
sleeping child had purchased a ticket for Glen Oberon, 
and ending with the April evening when, like fugitives 
fleeing from justice, they had alighted at Willow Road 
Station, and stolen through the darkness to Rose Cot- 
tage. 

“ Now, Aunt Christine, don’t you think we did the 
best thing under the circumstances ? Don’t you think 
Miss Majella will be safer here than anywhere else?” 

You did perfectly right, Recie. As to being safe, 
Julian Morannowill not come here in search of his child. 
If he does, he will find me instead. Miss Majella,’' 
laying her hand on the blind girl’s hair with a caressing 
touch, “ you are very welcome to our humble home. 
I wish we had more to offer you. I wish we could give 
you the wealth and luxury you enjoyed at Laurellawn.” 

“ Oh, Miss De Verre, please do not speak like that ! 
I don’t want wealth or luxury ; I only want to be safe. 
Let me be one of you, as though I were Rede’s sister. 
Won’t you treat me just as you do her?” 

“ Yes, dear, if you wish it,” Miss De Verre said, and 
kissed the broad, low brow ; then turned away, her face 
pale, her lips quivering, as with sudden pain. 

All the grass was golden with the dandelions. All the 
air was fragrant with lilacs and syringas. All the trees 
were filled with music from the bird-choirs of the spring. 

On the broad, back porch, where the grape-vines grew 
in a tangle of green, Miss De Verre sat looking over 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


225 


lettuce, while Majella rested on the door-step. Recie had 
gone to Willow Road with a basket of eggs, and the 
house was very still. 

“ Of what are you thinking. Miss Mella ?” Christine 
asked, breaking the long silence which had fallen between 
them. 

“ I was wondering how you learned to speak French 
so fluently. One would suppose it was your native 
tongue.” 

“ They would have been quite right, my dear. It was. 
I was born in France, and spent nearly three years in 
Paris.” 

“ Miss De Verre, there is something I — I should like 
to ask you ?” 

“ Well, what is it ?” 

“ You will not think me rude or inquisitive?” 

“ Certainly not. Miss Mella.” 

“ Did you live with your aunt in a little country vil- 
lage, and go sometimes to sing in the church by the 
river, and one day, as you were singing, did a theatrical 
company come to town and offer to take you to Paris, 
and help you to become a great actress ?” 

“ Miss Majella, I did not suppose you knew my story. 
I did not think your father would tell you of me.” 

“ My father ! Did you know him. Miss De Verre ?” 

“ Know him ? If you have heard my story, you must 
remember it was he who lured me from the paths of 
truth and virtue. Did he not tell you how he flattered 
and deceived me, an innocent village girl ?” 

“ He told me nothing.” 

Where, then, did you hear my story ?” 

“ Retta told me long ago.” 

“ Retta ? Who is Retta ?” 


226 


M A JELL A; ORy 


“ She is — she was — I think — I believe IVe solved the 
mystery. But it’s all so strange. Miss De Verre, won’t 
you tell me your story ? I think I have a right to ask 
it.” 

Christine looked up at the girl who now stood before 
her, her cheeks flushed, her eyes gleaming with excite- 
ment. 

“ Yes,” she answered, slowly, I will tell you the 
story, which even Recie has never heard. As for me, 
it’s only a step lower in the valley of humiliation, where 
I have been these many years. Sit down on that bench 
under the grape-vine, and I’ll tell you your story as well 
as my own.” 

Majella obeyed, and Christine commenced her nar- 
rative, speaking in the brief, direct manner natural to 
her. 

THE STORY. 

‘‘ My mother died when I was born. My father mar- 
ried again, and the old home was no longer open to my 
sister and me. She became nurse-girl to an American 
family then in France, and came with them to Phila- 
delphia. I was too young to go out to service, so I 
lived with my aunt, who made of me a household drudge. 
My only pleasures were the rare occasions when, on 
Saturdays, I could steal away to the old gray church 
and listen while the organist played over the hymns for 
Sabbath morning. One day he saw me sitting in the 
shadowy corner, and asked why I came. I told him 
how I loved the music and wanted to learn to sing. 
He offered to teach me free of charge. At first my aunt 
objected, but when he told her that I had a fine voice 
and might be able to earn a great deal of money, she 
gave her consent, and I was happy. When I was about 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 22 / 

fifteen I joined the village choir, but ambition had grown 
with my growth and I was not contented. 

One day when I came out from the church, where I 
had been practising the Christmas anthems, I found a 
stranger in the porch. He told me he was the manager 
of a theatrical company passing through town ; that he 
had heard me sing, and, recognizing the fact that my 
voice was just what he needed to complete his com- 
pany, had waited to speak to me. He offered to take 
me to Paris, of whose splendor I had read and dreamed, 
but knew practically nothing. 

Ambition was my ruling passion, and I promised to 
go. I knew my aunt would not give her consent. She 
was very strict on such subjects. I said nothing to her, 
but the next morning, when the company left the town, 
I went with them. The tenor singer of the troupe was 
Julian Moranno, a handsome young Spaniard. I loved 
him. How could I help it ? He professed to adore me 
in return, but ridiculed formal marriage ceremonies. 

He told me if he gave me a ring and we promised 
to be faithful to each other, the marriage would be as 
binding as any priest could make it; and I, the untaught 
village girl, believed him. 

“ One night, when the stars looked down upon the 
Loire, he gave me the ring, and we went through a 
ceremony which to me was as beautiful as it was simple. 
Just a year later my baby girl was born, my little Mar- 
guerite. I hired a nurse for the child and took my old 
place in the company. As I stood in my pretty room, 
one night, preparing to take my part of Helen in the 
‘ Siege of Troy,’ there was a knock at the door. 

“ Before I could answer it, a lady entered, carrying a 
baby in her arms. She had a pale, beautiful face and 


228 


MAJELLA; OR, 


proud, dark eyes that seemed to look over and beyond 
me to the cradle where Marguerite lay sleeping. 

“ ‘ Who are you ?’ she asked ; and though she spoke 
French well, I knew it was not her native tongue. 

“ I replied that I was Christine Moranno, the wife of 
the tenor singer. 

“ * It is false !’ she cried, coming nearer and fixing her 
eyes upon me as if she wanted to consume me by their 
fire. ^ You are not his wife ! You are only an ignorant 
peasant; and that child,’ pointing to the cradle, ‘has no 
right to live ! I am his wife, and this is his child !’ 

“At that moment Julian Moranno entered the room, 
and I appealed to him. 

“ ‘ Tell her the truth !’ the stranger commanded, turn- 
ing her wonderful eyes upon him. 

“ There he stood between us, — one the village peasant, 
the other the lady born. 

“ ‘ Christine,’ he said, at last, ‘ it is true.’ She is my 
wife. I married her nine years ago. She has been 
living at Chateau des Roses.' 

“ ‘ And I am not your wife, and my child has no right 
even to a name ?’ 

“ ‘ Why, that’s putting it rather plain,’ he said, lightly. 
‘ Of course, you’re not my lawful wife ; and now Madelon 
is here, it wouldn’t be pleasant for you to stay. I’ll give 
you some money. You had better take the little one 
and go away somewhere where you are not known. 
You’ll soon forget all about it.’ 

“ I did not wait for his money. I caught up my child 
and fled out into the darkness. After that I earned our 
bread by singing in the streets. Sometimes we had 
plenty, sometimes none at all. For myself I did not 
mind, but Marguerite grew thin and white, and I knew 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


229 


she could not long endure a life of such privation. One 
evening, as I finished singing a little ballad and gathered 
up the stray coins a careless crowd bestowed, a young 
woman touched me on the arm and told me her mistress 
wished to see me. I followed her to a beautiful room 
in the hotel opposite, where Madam Grey, a sad-faced 
English lady, was waiting. She told me she was very 
lonely and wished to take Marguerite as her own daugh- 
ter. At first I refused ; but when she compared the life 
she would lead as her child with the existence she must 
endure as mine, I saw it was my duty; and, though it 
almost broke my hearty I gave up all claim to my darling 
and went away alone. 

“ I remained nearly a year in Paris. I felt that my life 
was over. My ambition was dead. I had but one pas- 
sion — that was revenge ! How I hated the woman who 
had driven me out of my Eden ! How I hated the child 
who had taken the place which belonged to Marguerite ! 

“ I resolved to visit Chateau des Roses. I had no 
definite plans ; I only wanted to see them again. When 
I arrived at the chateau, the old servant who admitted 
me told me that his mistress was very ill. 

‘ Oh, madam !’ he exclarimed, pleadingly ; ‘ if you are 
her friend, stay and take care of her. There is no one in 
the house except me and my poor daughter Madelon, 
who is not quite right in her mind. Mistress will not 
have a doctor, and I am afraid she is going to die !’ 

“ I followed him into the darkened room where Made- 
Ion Moranno was lying. When she saw me she threw 
her arms around the child, who was nestling by her side, 
and cried pitifully, — 

' Don’t harm my little Lynola ! Indeed, I have suf- 
fered quite as much as you !’ 


230 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Looking into her changed white face I knew she told 
the truth, and all the thirst for vengeance died out of my 
heart forever. 

have both been sinned against,’ I said; ‘why 
should we hate each other ?’ 

I became her nurse; and as the days went by I learned 
to love her as I had never loved my own sister. One 
evening she received a letter from her husband, inform- 
ing her that he would be at the chateau the next day. 

“ ‘ Oh, Christine !’ she cried, in a passion of fear ; 
‘ what shall I do ? I feel that I am dying. When he 
comes and finds me gone, he will take Lynola to Paris 
and bring her up in that whirlpool of sin. I cannot bear 
it! You must help me. You must save my child.’ 

“ ‘ I will do whatever you wish,’ I answered, promptly. 

“ ‘ Then take Lynola away this very night. Hide some- 
where till I am dead, then take her to America and give 
her to Richard Heathburn. Although I have wronged 
him more than any one else in the world, he will be kind 
to my child.’ 

“ Weak as she was, she told me her sad story, described 
Laurellawn and its surroundings, and explained the best 
way to reach it. Then, kissing her baby good-by, she 
sank back among the pillows exhausted. I could not 
wait until she revived, for the day was breaking. So I 
took you in my arms and fled away. Six months later 
I returned. The chateau was deserted. Old Jacques 
and his weak-minded daughter had gone, but in one 
corner of the garden was a grave. On the wooden cross 
at its head was cut the one word, ‘ Madelon.’ And I 
knew that she was dead. 

“ I worked hard, for I had learned to love you as my 
own child, and I wanted to keep you with me, if possible. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


231 


But when I discovered that you were blind, I knew I 
could not give you the care and attention you needed, 
and so I brought you to America. It was I who left 
you on the piazza of the Heathburn mansion; I who 
stood in the shadow of a laurel bush when the boy 
Victor found and carried you into the house. Then I 
returned to the village and took the next train. I did 
not get a ticket lest the agent should remember me. 
From Netherton I went to Philadelphia, where I learned 
that my sister had married and gone to Lancaster 
County. I followed her here, found that her husband 
was dead, and that she and her little daughter were 
living alone. She was glad to have me with her. Since 
her death I have lived here in the old cottage. I kept 
track of you until your mysterious disappearance. When 
Recie wrote and told me of her position as Miss Mo- 
ranno’s maid, I knew I had found you again.” 

And Marguerite, do you know where she is ?” Ma- 
jella asked, breathlessly. 

“ I know nothing of her. Here comes Recie, now. 
Please do not repeat what I have told you. There are 
reasons why I would rather no one should know my 
story except you, who had a right to hear it.” 


232 


M A JELL A; OR, 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 
retta’s reward. 

‘‘Halloo, old boy! Aren’t you going to speak to 
me ?” 

“ Victor Heathburn I ’Pon my soul I Where did 
you drop from ?” 

“ I’m on my way home from Cuba.” 

“ Cuba I What in the name of two continents were 
you doing in Cuba?” 

“ Well, you see,” leaning towards his friend, who occu- 
pied the seat just ahead in the D. L. and W. passenger 
coach, ‘‘ I heard of a blind girl in Havana who was 
creating a great sensation by her singing, and I thought 
perhaps it might be Mella.” 

“And you were mistaken?” Penn Norfield asked, 
quickly. 

“Mistaken? Yes: it was an imposition. The girl 
was no more blind than I am. All gotten up for 
effect.” 

“Victor, why don’t you give up that wild-goose 
chase? Excuse me for the expression, but that’s just 
what it is.” 

“ I am afraid you’re right, Norfield. For the last two 
years I have searched the civilized world over, and, so 
far as I can see, am no nearer success than I was the 
day I heard of Majella’s disappearance. I must give 
it up 1” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


233 


** What will you do? Return to your position in the 
University, or settle down at Laurellawn and enjoy your- 
self as a man with plenty of money should ?” 

“ Neither. I cannot remain in America. It is like a 
death-chamber to me, where all my hopes have died and 
still lie unburied. I shall go abroad, to Australia, I 
think. There is a gentleman in Adelaide who wishes 
me to join him in some land investments. He has the 
experience, I the capital. Together we can hardly help 
but succeed. Where are you bound for, captain ?” 

‘‘Swindon. You know I live there now?’^ 

“ What ! Is your company stationed in that peaceful 
city ?” 

“ Oh, I’ve left the army and gone into the mercantile 
business. But how are the folks at the Lawn ?” 

“ Not very well, I fear. Mother has fallen into her 
old despondency since her return from Europe.” 

“And Harley?” 

“ He is still in the West, — quite a cowboy, I should 
judge from his letters.” 

“ Where is Louise ? Mrs. Allingford, I mean.” 

“At her summer home on the Hudson, I believe. 
She spent last winter with our parents in Italy.” 

“ Did her husband accompany her?” 

“ Oh, no ! He seldom does. The fact is, Penn, how- 
ever great a social success my sister’s marriage may 
have been, as a sentimental venture it was a dead failure. 
Allingford lives his life, — Louise hers. He spent last 
winter in the South, — Montgomery, I believe.” 

“ Morning papers ! New York Times, Philadelphia 
Press, Swindon Republican 

“ ni take the Republican. I always patronize news- 
boys,” Victor remarked, as the little fellow passed on. 

16 


234 JELL A ; OR, 

It makes them so happy. Would you like to look at it, 
captain ?” 

“ Thanks. There may be some news,” Norfield said, 
as he took the freshly-printed sheet. “ By Jove ! What’s 
this. • The Swindon L. B. A. will give a concert in the 
Academy of Music this evening. Proceeds for the bene- 
fit of the Home for the Friendless. Among the brilliant 
names noticed on the programme is that of Miss Retta 
Grey, the popular young actress who has won such envi- 
able laurels across the sea.’ Heathburn, you must 
stop over with me and go to the concert. Mother will 
be delighted to see you again, and if Retta Grey sings 
as well as she used to in the cosey little parlor at the 
‘ Lilacs,’ it will be no common treat to hear her.” 

:(c ^ :}{ 

Fair women, handsome men, costly robes, rare per- 
fumes, gems that glittered under the incandescent lights, 
flowers that drooped in the tropic-like heat, long rows 
of fans waving dreamily, languidly, to and fro, keeping 
time, time, time.” 

The academy was packed that night. Every one 
wanted to hear Retta Grey, the brilliant young Prima 
Do7ina, the echoes of whose fame had spanned old 
ocean’s width, and she was next upon the programme. 
Eager eyes were raised from the dainty slips of paper 
and fixed upon the curtain. It rose slowly, steadily, 
and revealed a beautifully-decorated stage, before whose 
background of ferns and cut flowers the young singer 
stood queenly and still as a marble statue in a garden of 
green. 

Did she, the most brilliant among that brilliant throng, 
remember the moonlit night at Glen Oberon when she 
had resolved to win the world’s fickle praise ? Did she. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


235 


with her Oriental beauty and matchless grace, recall the 
time when first she played the Gypsy Queen under the 
flaming torches of the Kannawa Indians’ camp ? Did 
she even think of that midsummer night when, for the 
sake of a fair-haired girl, she had cast down her heart’s 
idol and vowed henceforth to worship only at ambition’s 
shrine ? 

Penn Norfield leaned from his place in the balcony, 
where he and Victor had obtained seats by paying three 
times their usual value, and tried to read the singer’s 
heart. She sang beautifully, matchlessly. Men called 
her the Spanish princess,” “ The queen of beauty,” 
“ The goddess of music.” Women secretly envied, but 
openly declared she was “ perfectly charming,” “ exqui- 
sitely lovely.” The press styled her “ the star of the 
season,” and nobody dreamed that under the glittering 
ice the fiery passions of the Southland burned and seethed 
like Hecla under the snow. 

The next day was the Sabbath. The favorite singer 
did not attend church, greatly to the disappointment of 
the various congregations, each of which hoped to claim 
her presence. 

All day long she sat in her darkened parlor, her bright 
eyes dim with tears. 

On returning from the concert the previous evening, 
Mrs. Carter, who had acted the role of chaperone since 
grandmother Grey went to join her son and his family 
in Southern California, handed her a letter from that lady. 
It contained the news of Edwin Brooklyne’s death. 

“ We buried him under the flowers of fair Los Ange- 
les,” wrote the mother. We shall start at once for the 
East. Lucy and the children will return to England, 
and I shall remain with you, for a time at least.” 


236 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ Poor Lucy !” Retta murmured, over and over again. 
“ What a sad home-going for her ! How hard it will be 
to leave Edwin alone in that far-off land and return to 
the village where she knew and loved him as a child ! 
But, after all, it makes little difference where we lie, and — 

* ’Tis better to have loved and lost, 

Than never to have loved at all. ’ 

Was Tennyson right, I wonder ?” 

She pushed back the heavy curtains, and, entering her 
bedroom, took from a box on her dressing-case a note, 
worn and tear-stained. Returning to the parlor, she sat 
down by the table and read it over, as she had done 
many and many a time before. The hand was cramped 
and uncertain, and some of the words were blotted, yet 
she had no difficulty in making them out, for she knew 
it almost by heart. The letter ran as follows : 

“ Hill Grove, Florida. 

“ Penn, my Darling, — When you read this I shall be 
at rest, and will not mind the gladness it will bring you. 
I meant to tell you all myself, but I fear you will not 
come in time, and I cannot die and let you believe Retta 
Grey cold and selfish, when she is the noblest, truest girl 
in the world. I know you loved her first and best. I 
knew it all the while; and I think it would have broken 
my heart if she had not guessed the secret which I never 
meant to tell. Then, because she was brave and strong 
and I was selfish and weak, I let her make the sacrifice. 
She avoided you, she declined your invitations. She 
laughed at love, and told you ambition was her ruling 
passion, and all the while she loved you. Don’t despise 
me for my weakness, Penn. Remember it was all for 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


237 


love of you, and God has made it right by taking me 
away. Go to her at once, and let her read this. I am 
not jealous. I am not even sad. I know you are worthy 
of her, and Retta is worthy of her reward. I think the 
sun must be setting, ’tis so dark I cannot see the lines. 
But I’m sure you’ll be here when I waken in the 
morning.” 

^^Oh, Blanche! Gentle, unselfish Blanche!” Retta 
cried, her tears falling fast on the already blotted page. 
“You meant to make it all right, but fate seems against 
us ! Majella carried this letter almost two years, unable 
to send it to the one for whom it was intended, and now 
I have it I am too proud to do so. If only I had not 
followed her advice and read it, it would have been 
different. But now I cannot endure the humiliation. It 
would be throwing myself at Penn Norfield’s feet and 
asking for his pity. No, Retta Grey can live without 
him or his love. She can laugh and jest and sing, no 
matter how sad her heart may be. He has forgotten 
her, and she will not remember him.” 

“ A gentleman to see you. Miss Grey.” 

Retta dashed the tears from her eyes, smoothed 
down her wavy hair, and rose with her accustomed grace. 
The door opened and Penn Norfield entered. With a 
quick movement she slipped the letter she had been 
reading in a volume of Moore’s poems lying on the 
table, and advanced to welcome the visitor. 

“Retta! Miss Grey! Is it really you?” he cried, 
holding her hands in his. “ I almost fear you are a 
phantom of my imagination, and will vanish as you did 
last evening.” 

“ I was not aware I appeared so ghostly. Indeed, I 


238 


MAJELLA; OR, 


thought myself quite substantial. But, Captain Norfield, 
where are your scars of glory ? I supposed by this time 
you would swing at least one empty coat-sleeve.” 

“ Only a few are born to glory, Miss Grey, and some 
of them never receive their birthright. My brow is quite 
uncrowned. There were no laurels left for me when you 
passed through the fields of fame.” 

“ Take a seat, captain. You must be exhausted after 
that compliment. Do you know,” sinking on the sofa, 
“ I am greatly disappointed in you.” 

“ May I inquire in what particular?” 

I did not think the world would spoil you. I did 
not imagine you would stoop to anything so common as 
flattery. I hoped, I believed, you would always be as 
straightforward and sensible as you were in the old days 
at the ' Lilacs.’ ” 

“ Ah, Miss Grey, those days are as dead as the lilacs 
that bloomed that summer ! Only their memory remains, 
but — 

‘ Let fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, 

Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy.’ 

What is the rest? Ah, here is Moore himself. Let him 
tell us.” 

He took up the volume and turned the leaves care- 
lessly. Retta watched him as a criminal might watch 
the executioner arranging the rope. Much as she wanted 
him to see that letter, all her woman’s pride rebelled 
against his finding it in her possession. 

” Yes — 


‘ Long, long be my heart with such memories filled. 
Like a vase in which roses have once been distilled; 
You may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will. 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.’ ” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


239 


He closed the book and laid it on the table. As he 
did so the fateful letter slipped out and fluttered to the 
carpet. Retta sprang forward to secure it, but already 
Captain Norfield was holding it to the lamp, gazing in 
wonder at the well-remembered writing. 

“ Give it to me !” she cried, excitedly. It is mine !” 

“ The writing is Blanche Heathburn’s, and the letter 
is addressed to me. How did you come by it?” 

Majella gave it to me and told me to read it. I saw 
it was of no consequence, so I kept it. Please give it 
back at once !” 

“ When I have read it, not before.” 

Retta Grey took a step backward and leaned against the 
casement to await her sentence. Slowly, carefully, Penn 
Norfield read the dead girl’s letter ; surprise, relief, and 
joy , chasing each other over his face in quick succession. 

Retta, why have you kept this from me ?” he ex- 
claimed, rising and confronting her. 

Simply for self-protection,” she answered, with a 
defiant little laugh. “ Witnesses have a right to with- 
hold testimony that may criminate them. Under that 
statute I had a right to keep the note, — had not I?” 

“ No, you hadn’t. It belongs to me ; and so do you, 
my proud, generous, foolish little girl ! The stage has 
lost a star, but I have won the wife for whom I have 
waited so long.” 

“ Penn Norfield, you are a conceited creature ! I 
always did detest you, and now I — I ” 

“ No, don’t say it. You know it would not be true. 
Remember what the Bible says about ‘ whosoever maketh 
or telleth a lie! You know you don’t hate me. You 
love me, and have loved me for over three years. You 
can’t look straight into my eyes and deny it.” 


240 


M A JELL A; OR, 


I can and I will !” 

“ Well, try it.” 

She raised her flushed, angry face, and, as if to gain 
courage for the grand climax, exclaimed, — 

“ I always thought you perfectly horrid ! I always 
wondered how people could admire you ; and to-night, 
more than ever before, I — I — love you !” 

With something between a sob and a laugh she bowed 
her proud head and owned her conqueror. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

ONE SABBATH DAY. 

“Yes, Norfield, I congratulate you. You must have 
been born under a lucky planet. It isn’t every fellow 
who could win Miss Retta Grey. I sincerely hope you 
may be happy.” And Victor Heathburn leaned back 
in his chair with the self-satisfied air of one who has said 
exactly the proper thing. 

His friend had been relating the main incidents of his 
call on the actress and its happy result. 

Victor had listened with as much interest as people 
generally do listen to the story of a love affair in which 
they themselves play no part. 

“ By the way, cap,” he remarked, as that gentleman 
paused for want of an adjective with which to express 
his appreciation of Retta’s voice, “ I met an old friend 
this afternoon.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


241 


Indeed ! Who was it ?’' wondering how a man could 
be interested in anything so tame as friendship. 

“ Dr. Vanberg. He is staying with an old uncle in 
Lancaster County, and only ran up to Swindon to see 
Dr. Schreinhurst, who has but recently arrived from 
Germany. Van insists on my returning with him.” 

“Will you go ?” 

“ I think so. He has promised to wait until Thursday. 
That will give me time to run home and see mother a 
day or two. Penn, I may be wrong, but I believe that 
silent-tongued doctor knows something of Majella.” 

Calm and beautiful as a poet’s dream dawned the 
June Sabbath over Lancaster, the garden of the Keystone 
State. Miss Christine milked the cows and fed Star 
down by the pasture bars. Recie washed the breakfast 
dishes and put a bouquet of fresh roses in the best room, 
for, as she said. Dr. Vanberg might come up to call on 
auntie, as he did sometimes on Sunday afternoons. 

Majella, who insisted on having some share of the 
household duties, stood under the grape-vines feeding 
the half-grown chickens which crowded around her feet, 
picked at her dress, and even flew into the pan of cracked 
corn she carried. 

“ They are like all the rest,” Recie exclaimed, as she 
came out on the porch, where she turned her milk-pans 
to dry, — “ the more they know you the better they love 
you. I’m half inclined to believe you carry some won- 
derful magnet that attracts everything towards you.” 

“ Ah, my dear, she is a magnet herself, the most won- 
derful magnet in the world, — a true Christian woman !” 
And Miss Christine smiled lovingly as she passed on 
to the little kitchen bedroom, where she exchanged her 


242 


MAJELLA; OR, 


short calico dress for a simple black lawn, fastened her 
heavy black hair in a coil at the back of her head, and 
put on the black straw hat, whose ribbons had been 
changed and pressed and turned for many a year. 

As the echoes of the first church-bell floated across 
the daisy-sprinkled meadows and died away along the 
Conestoga, the three inmates of Rose Cottage passed 
down the chestnut-shaded lane and out into the high- 
way leading to the village. 

Majella was dressed entirely in black, her long, close- 
fitting costume adding height and dignity to her dimin- 
utive figure; while Recie looked positively childish in 
her short white muslin and fluttering pink ribbons. 

“ Oh, dear ! how still everything is,” cried that light- 
hearted maiden, as she tripped along in front of her 
more subdued companions. 

“ The very cows nip the grass in a solemn. Sunday- 
like way. I wish something would happen ! Don’t you, 
Mella?” 

“ No, Recie, I do not. If your bark had been tossed 
about on the waves as mine has been you would be glad 
for a little calm water where the boat only drifts, with 
never a breeze to fill the sails.” 

They reached the church and went up the aisle to 
their accustomed seat by the window, while the choir 
was singing the opening hymn. 

The church was a quaint old structure, cool and pleas- 
ant, no matter how sultry the day might be, for the wil- 
lows grew close to the windows, while the little brook, 
that came rippling through the town singing its merry 
lay to the village of the living, glided softly past the 
church and wandered away among the tombstones, mur- 
muring a tender lullaby to the village of the dead. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


243 


The minister read for the lesson the beautiful parable 
of the Prodigal Son. As the congregation knelt in 
prayer the quick ear of the blind girl caught the sound 
of footsteps in the vestibule. Two men came up the 
aisle and took the pew just ahead, which Dr. Vanberg 
usually occupied. Although curiosity was not one of 
her leading characteristics, the earnestness of Majella’s 
devotions was materially lessened that day by a vague 
wonder as to who the stranger could be who sat so near 
she might have touched him with her hand ? 

The preacher read one of Luther’s stirring hymns, 
but several members of the choir were absent that day. 
Male voices, particularly, were lacking, and the grand 
old melody seemed strangely thin and weak. Suddenly 
a rich tenor voice took up the song, which rose and 
swelled till the church was full of music and the very 
rafters caught and echoed back the strain. 

People looked at each other and then at the handsome 
young singer who shared Dr. Vanberg’s seldom-used 
hymn-book. The venerable servant of God leaned back 
in his pulpit-chair, his face fairly shining with delight. 

But why had Majella grown so deathly white? For 
a moment she swayed to and fro like a broken flower 
in the wind, then fell in Christine’s arms with the one 
word, “ Victor upon her lips. 

Miss De Verre carried her out into the open air, and 
sitting down on the low board step was about to take 
the drooping head in her lap, but she was too late. 
Some one took the limp form from her arms. Some 
one was raining passionate kisses on the still, white lips. 
Some one was calling the unconscious girl by all the 
endearing names that fancy could suggest. 

“ Mella, Mella ! My long-lost darling, for whom I have 


244 


M A JELL A; OR, 


searched the world in vain, speak to me ! Look at me, 
tell me you are glad !*' 

One by one the worshippers left the church and sur- 
rounded the little group. The minister waited until the 
last man stole cautiously out, then followed the example 
of the multitude, and joined the circle beneath the wil- 
lows. 

Recie Strawson seemed to be the only person who re- 
tained the full use of her senses. She realized the situ- 
ation at once, and made a correct guess as to the identity 
of the stranger. “ Step back a little, good people,” she 
exclaimed. “ We must have fresh air. Mr. Heathburn, 
you’ll smother her if you act that way. I know you 
are glad you’ve found her, but do try to be sensible. 
Aunt Christine, go and wet your handkerchief in the 
brook. Dr. Vanberg, where are you ? Why don’t you 
attend to this case ?” 

“ Here I am. Miss Recie, and I never gave you credit 
for as good judgment as you have just displayed.” 

“ Oh, doctor ! Is she dead ? Have I only found her 
but to lose her forever ?” Victor cried, appealingly. 

“No, no, my boy. She’s safe; only fainted. That’s 
right. Miss Christine ; bathe her face with the cold 
water. I was a fad to let you attend church, Victor. 
I didn’t want you to, but you would come, and I couldn’t 
very well help it. I knew there would be a scene, but 
I had no idea the poor child would be so greatly shocked. 
Ah, she is recovering.” 

Slowly the heavy eyelids lifted, the lips parted, and, in 
a half whisper, Majella asked, — 

“ Where’s Recie ?” 

“ Here I am, dear, close beside you.” 

What has happened ?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


245 


“ Oh, nothing serious. You fainted; that’s all.” 

“But why did I faint?” 

An instant’s dead silence, then a flash of light seemed 
to illumine her darkened brain. 

“ Ah, I remember !” she cried. “ It was Victor’s voice 
I heard. Where is he now ? Oh ! ’tis hard to be blind !” 

“ Here I am, Mella, holding you in my arms. Dear 
little girl! You don’t know how lonely the years have 
been, or how I have prayed to God, your God, to bring 
you back, and at last He has remembered my prayer. 
I have found you, and I never, never mean to let you 
go again !” 

“ Oh, Victor !” she exclaimed, throwing her arms 
about his neck, a great tide of love and gladness sweep- 
ing all before it. “ I thought I was lost forever !” she 
sobbed, as she clung to him, forgetting the cruel barrier 
that a moment’s folly had reared between them. 

“ The sun is mighty hard on a fellar’s eyes,” observed 
an old farmer, moving his bright bandanna vigorously 
before his misty eyes. Apparently, the whole congre- 
gation might have echoed his complaint, for handker- 
chiefs were in great demand in the old church-yard that 
June Sabbath. 


246 


M A JELL A; OR, 


CHAPTER XXXV 1. 

FOUND, YET LOST. 

In the after-glow of the summer sunset Victor sat on 
the rose-shaded porch and listened to Majella’s story. 
It was not an easy tale to tell, and though the blind girl 
was no coward, her sweet voice often faltered, and she 
turned her face away as if fearful even in the deepening 
shadows he might see the pain she could not hide. Yet 
she told him all, — all that words, poor, imperfect words, 
could tell. The sorrow, the loneliness, and the sickness ; 
the hope, the doubt, and the despair. The plot which 
she had discovered too late, and the flight from a father 
who had sold his child for gold, and from a man who 
had won his bride by deceit. Long before it was fin- 
ished Victor was pacing to and fro like a chained but 
untamed lion. 

“ They are brutes !” he muttered, as she paused. “ Vil- 
lains, scoundrels, both of them ! I would shoot them 
as I would a mad dog in the streets. I would crush 
them as I would the shining serpent that fastens the 
unwary bird with its glittering eye of fire ! I tell you, 
Mella, this Christian religion is a miserable fable, — a 
story made up to frighten little children and amuse silly 
old women. There is no God ! If there were, would He 
not save an innocent, helpless girl who has loved and 
served Him all her life? If there are angels, would He 
not send them to protect her from the human blood- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


247 


hounds that are following on her track ? If there were 
a hell, would He not cast those serpents of humanity 
into the pit that was dug for them, and consign them to 
Satan, whose servants they are ?” 

“ Oh, hush, Victor, hush. Don’t try to destroy my 
faith in God. It is all I have left to comfort me now.” 
She came to his side and laid her trembling hand on his 
shoulder. He put his arm about her and they walked 
slowly back and forth while the stars shone out in the 
eastern sky, and a whippoorwill sang in the darkling 
distance. 

They talked of the future that was to have been so 
bright. Victor declared that Lewis Delmayne was the 
basest of scoundrels ; that the marriage was an example 
of villany unparalleled in the history of crime ; that any 
jury in the land would declare it null and void. Majella 
should be as free as the winds that swept over Glen 
Oberon. She should return to Laurellawn and he would 
make her his wife. Then woe to the man, woman, or 
child who dared to point the finger of scorn at Victor 
Heathburn’s bride ! 

But Majella was as firm as the moss-covered rocks 
in whose shadow she had sat when a child. To her 
companion’s fierce denunciations, stern assertions of his 
rights and claims, and passionate appeals for love she 
only answered, — 

No, Victor, it cannot be. By my own weakness and 
folly I have lost the happiness that ' might have been! 
I married Lewis Delmayne of my own free will. No 
one compelled me to do so. I made those solemn vows 
in the presence of God and His servant, and no human 
tribunal can break them. I was deceived, cruelly 
wronged, but that did not make the ceremony less 


248 


M A JELL A; OR, 


sacred. I never wish to hear of or speak to him again. 
I would sooner die than return to him, yet I am bound 
by cords that only death can break.” 

It was strange how suddenly they had changed places. 
She, the gentle, trustful girl who had sat at his feet 
drinking in his words of wisdom, was a woman now 
calm and strong, with a woman’s will of iron; while 
he, the proud man of the world, to whom wealth had 
come by inheritance, fame by the asking, and love with- 
out even that, he knelt in the shadowy porch of the old 
Dutch cottage and pleaded for the blind girl’s pity. By 
and by they entered the parlor, where Recie joined 
them, adding her voice to Victor’s. 

It’s all nonsense !” she cried. “ What’s the use of 
spoiling your life and giving up your chances of happi- 
ness for the sake of a man who isn’t worth the room he 
takes up. I know the Bible talks about the holy bonds 
of marriage, and says ‘ What God has joined together, 
let no man put asunder,’ but I don’t believe God had 
anything to do with joining you with that slippery, snake- 
like man. The match wasn’t manufactured in heaven. 
It came straight from the furnace down in the lower 
regions, and was tipped with brimstone and all ready to 
light. Take my advice. Get a divorce, marry Mr. Vic- 
tor, and be as happy as you can.” 

But, right or wrong, Majella had made her decision, 
and, like most deep natures, no outside influence could 
reach the depths and turn the current. 

In the hush of the summer midnight Victor said 
“good-by.” There were no tears in the blind girl’s 
eyes, but the lips he stooped to kiss for the last, the 
very last time — as some spirit of sorrow whispered — 
were as cold as the marble that marks a grave. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


249 


She stood on the threshold while he crossed the porch, 
went down the lane, and out of her life. Then she stag- 
gered backward with a pitiful cry of despair. Christine 
took her in her arms and soothed her as she would a 
little child. 

Meanwhile, Victor Heathburn walked away with a 
burden on his heart that he had never felt before. He 
paused at the old church, where the moon cast a silvery 
light over the monuments, while the graves were left in 
shadow. Bowing his head on a tombstone near, he real- 
ized with a great throb of pain that Majella was as lost 
to him as though it were she who rested in that low 
cradle of the dead. 

5}: ^ ^ 5(j 

Five weeks later he stood on the deck of a steamer 
outward bound and watched the shores of his native 
land fade in the dim blue distance. 

“ I shall only be gone a year,” he had said to the 
tearful mother and the sad-faced father who stood upon 
the pier. But he looked at those faint outlines to the 
westward as one might look at a home to which he was 
saying “ good-by forever.” 

Colonel and Mrs. Heathburn did not return immedi- 
ately to Laurellawn ; instead, they took the first train 
to Chicago, thence to Omaha, and finally to Santa Lina, 
where Mrs. Heathburn remained, hoping the invigorating 
air might help her to recover from the nervous shock 
which Victor’s sudden departure for Australia had 
caused. 

The colonel hastened on to Black Snake Ranche, where 
Harley was revelling in all the glory of a western boom, 
with himself at its head. The barren tract of land which 
John Marshall had bequeathed to his grandson because, 

17 


250 


MAJELLA; OR, 


as that young gentleman expressed it, he didn’t want to 
trouble Victor with anything so utterly useless, had sud- 
denly developed into a very paying investment. 

First, the new railroad had skirted the wild land. Then 
a stray mineral agent had discovered silver, and, in a 
week, a hundred men were on the ground, all anxious 
to secure shares in the Wood Dove Mining Company, 
as Harley christened the new corporation. Stock sold 
at mining-boom prices. The young man without a future 
displayed positive talents as a financier, and soon had a 
snug sum of money in his possession. 

Still the excitement continued. Harley laid out a 
second camp, which he named Retta, in honor,” he said, 
“ of the second prettiest girl in America.” 

Business was rushing, and, finding himself in need of 
assistance, he sent for his father, who joined him, as we 
have indicated, about ten days after Victor sailed for 
Australia. There were some disputes about titles, and 
the week Colonel Heathburn had intended to spend at 
Black Snake Ranche easily drifted into three. 

When he at last returned to Santa Lina, he found his 
wife suffering from a nervous attack, caused by a rumor 
of an Indian massacre on the frontier. Another week 
elapsed before she was sufficiently recovered to travel. 
Then trunks were packed, bills paid, and arrangements 
made to begin the journey home early on the next 
morning. The afternoon was very sultry, and Mrs. 
Heathburn went out on the piazza, where she found Mr. 
Smith, a geological surveyor, who had arrived from the 
East the previous evening. 

“ Perhaps you would like to look at a late paper, 
madam,” he remarked, handing her the New York 
World, ‘‘ It was printed nearly a month ago, but in this 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 25 I 

remote corner of the globe anything dated within the 
year is considered late.” 

Usually the mistress of Laurellawn took little interest 
in newspapers, but during her month’s seclusion in the 
far Southwest she had learned to appreciate almost any- 
thing that bore the stamp of the great world so far away. 
She took the paper and glanced c&relessly down its col- 
umns. Suddenly her face grew white, her eyes dilated 
with horror. In flaming head-lines, she read, — 

“Terrible Accident. — The steamer Ontario encotinters 
a fearful gale ojf the coast of Cornwall. Collides with an 
English schooner and sinks fifteen minutes later ! Heart- 
rending scenes on board! Many lives lost! List of the 
missing. Names of those whose bodies have been recovered 
and identified^ 

Mrs. Heathburn did not read all the horrible details of 
the wreck. What difference did it make how it hap- 
pened, or when, or where ? Her eyes glanced down that 
long column of the lost. 

“Andrews, Bedell, Brown, Clark, Davis, French, 
Harde, Heathburn. Victor Heathburn’s body washed 
ashore two days after the wreck ; identified by note- book 
found in overcoat pocket, and photograph clasped in one 
hand.” 

A piercing shriek rent the air. The paper fluttered 
from the nerveless hands, and Mr. Smith carried the 
unconscious woman to her room, where the village phy- 
sician, her maid, and the colonel watched beside her 
through the still summer night. But Clara Heathburn 
was beyond human aid. Her heart was broken. Victor, 
the one love of her life, was dead. .The idol lay in the 
dust, and the worshipper fell crushed beneath it. When 
Harley reached Santa Lina two days later, it was to find 


252 


MAJELLA; OR, 


his mother lying in her coffin. They buried her in the 
little cemetery just outside the town, where — 

“ For many a year the flowers have spread 
A pall of petals over her head, 

And the little gray hawk hangs aloft in the air, 

And the sly coyote trots here and there ; 

And the black snake glides, and glitters, and slides 
Into a rift in the cottonwood tree ; 

And the vulture sails on, and comes, and is gone, 

Stately and still as a ship at sea.’' 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 
death’s shadows deepen. 

Not only on the Mexican plains and the cold blue 
waters of Cornwall had the death angel spread his 
wings. In fair Lancaster might be heard the lamenta- 
tion, “ Rachel weeping for her children, and would not 
be comforted, because they are not.” 

Early in July, a poor family, but recently arrived in 
America, moved into a little shanty on the outskirts of 
Willow Road. The man worked for a farmer in the 
neighborhood. The woman took in washing, and the 
children, of whom, as a dry-goods merchant would ex- 
press it, there was a large and varied assortment, 
attended the village school. 

No one felt seriously alarmed when, one by one, these 
little ragamuffins” failed to put in an appearance. 
“ Sick,” as their eldest brother said with an expressive 
nod. But when, a week later, the blacksmith’s little girl 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


253 


went home from school, her brain throbbing with fever ; 
when, the next morning, the merchant’s son was unable 
to .rise; and when, two days later, the teacher herself 
lay raving in delirium, the people began to realize that a 
terrible calamity was breaking above them. They sent 
for Miss De Verre, as they always did, in time of need, 
and she answered the summons at once. After a brief 
consultation with the village doctor, she despatched a 
boy with a message to Dr. Vanberg. In half an hour 
the learned physician was by her side. Together they 
began and continued a work of mercy, which, in all 
probability, saved the town from utter destruction. 
Through the. sultry days Christine sat in the close hot 
rooms, bathing the burning temples, soothing the little 
children, speaking words of hope and comfort everywhere. 
When night came, it brought no rest to the faithful 
nurse, for there are shadows deeper than the darkness. 
There were weary eyes to be closed, still hands to be 
folded over pulseless breasts, and poor fever-stained faces 
to be hidden beneath their coffin lids. 

“ Let me take you home. Miss Christine,” Dr. Van- 
berg urged, as they stood on the sidewalk, one even- 
ing, after having watched by the death-bed of a poor 
widow. 

“ It is suicide for you to remain in this fever-laden air 
twenty-four hours longer.” 

“ My life is in God’s hands,” she answered, calmly. 
“While there is work for me to do. He will give me 
strength to do it. I must go to the minister’s now. I 
have just learned that his granddaughter is ill. Good- 
night.” And with a faint smile on her tired white face 
she hurried away. 

Only once, since that April evening when he had 


254 


MAJELLA; OR, 


pleaded for the love refused him years before, had Carl 
Vanberg referred to the subject. Then Christine had 
said firmly, — 

No, doctor, it can never be. I cannot be your wife. 
I have good reasons for my decision. I may explain 
some time, but not now, — not now!” 

The plague was stayed. No new cases of fever had 
been reported for nearly a week, and the patients were 
doing well. 

Miss De Verre had not been home since she com- 
menced her work as nurse, for, however little anxiety she 
might feel in regard to herself, she would not willingly 
expose Majella or her niece to the dread disease. 

One morning, as she sat in the minister’s parlor, a note 
was brought in and handed to her. It was from Recie, 
and read as follows : 

“ Dear Auntie, — Please do come home as soon as pos- 
sible. Something dreadful has happened. The steamer 
in which Mr. Victor sailed ran into another ship and 
ever so many people were drowned, and he among the 
rest. I wouldn’t have read it to Mella, if I had known, 
but I began, supposing it was just a piece of news, and 
then she wouldn’t let me stop. She has scarcely spoken 
a word since. She lies on the sofa as quiet as though 
she were asleep, but her eyes are wide open, and, oh, so 
full of pain. My heart is almost broken, and I can 
hardly write for crying, but she has not shed a tear.” 

That afternoon Dr. Vanberg drove over to Rose Cot- 
tage with Miss De Verre. They found Majella calm 
and tearless, as though turned to stone. 

“ Don’t try to comfort me,” she said, as Christine spoke 
soothingly to her; “I’m only suffering my just reward. 
It was /who drove him from his native land! I who 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 255 

sent him on board that fatal ship ! I who killed him, 
and now I must bear my punishment!” 

But she was not long permitted to indulge that deep 
though wordless grief. Soon she and Recie were bend- 
ing over Miss De Verre, who, in crossing the room, had 
staggered and fallen to the floor insensible. It was the 
fever; there could be no doubt of that. She, who had 
fought the battle so bravely for others, must now fight it 
for herself. Weeks of watching had exhausted mind 
and body, and Carl Vanberg felt from the first that the 
conflict would be hopeless, yet he worked with all the 
skill of a physician combined with the desperate energies 
of a lover. 

“You can’t understand it!” he exclaimed, one even- 
ing, as he stood in the porch with Majella. “ You don’t 
know all her life or death means to me !” 

“I know she is very dear to you,” the blind girl 
answered, softly, laying her hand upon his shoulder. “ I 
know you care for her, and yet ” 

“ Care for her ! Ah, child, that is not the word. She 
has been the one love of my life ! It was her refusal 
that sent me to Germany. When I returned to the old 
home, last spring, I came here to plead my cause again, 
and I think — yes, I really think — she was on the point 
of yielding when you and Recie came that night. Since 
then she has been colder and firmer than ever. I cannot 
understand it. She says she has good reasons for her 
decision, and yet I believe she loves me.” 

“ I know she does!” Majella cried, eagerly. 

“ Do you know her reasons for refusing me ?” 

“ Yes.” 

Then tell me. Anything would be better than this 
mystery.” 


256 


M A JELL A; OR, 


Majella hesitated. Would it be betraying her trust? 
Had he not a right to know, this man who had loved so 
long and patiently ? Sitting down on the bench among 
the roses, where she had sat with Victor when the 
flowers now dead were in their bloom, she related Chris- 
tine’s sad history. 

“ And the child ?” Dr. Vanberg questioned. “ Did 
you say you knew her?” 

“She is Retta Grey. Surely you must remember 
Retta?” 

” I remember ; but are you sure ?” 

” I am positive. Both have told me their stories, and 
they agree exactly. I intended to tell Christine, but I 
have had no opportunity, and now ” 

“ And now,” Dr. Vanberg repeated, “ we must send 
for Retta at once ! Christine shall see her before she 
dies !” 

Down the haze-bordered path of the western sky the 
sun was drifting to its haven among the green waves of 
the meadow-sea. Its last rays gleamed through the 
open window and rested on the little group gathered in 
Christine’s silent room. 

Penn Norfield leaned against the casement ; Recie was 
crying softly in the corner ; Majella sat on one side of 
the bed. Dr. Vanberg on the other; while kneeling be- 
side it, her eyes fixed intently upon^ the sleeper, was 
Retta, — Retta Norfield. 

She and Penn had been married only a week before, 
and had been called back from their bridal tour to this 
sad scene. 

The sun was lost in a mass of cloud, crimson and gold 
and black. The fresh wind blew up from the harvest- 
fields and swayed the snowy curtains. Still no word 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


257 


was spoken. The sleeper moved uneasily. Slowly her 
dark eyes opened and wandered about the room. There 
was no madness in them now, only a great weariness. 

“ Was it a dream ?” she whispered ; “ or did they tell 
me my child was here, — my baby Marguerite ?” 

“ It was no dream, mother. I am here beside you, 
holding your hands in mine. The baby Marguerite 
grown into a woman, yet your child still. Speak to me, 
dear mother!” 

“ Ah, Marguerite, my little Marguerite 1 Thank God, 
you have come at last 1 Lift me up I I want to see my 
darling, and it is growing dark.” 

Carl Vanberg lifted her tenderly in his arms. For a 
moment she gazed eagerly at Retta. Then, with a faint 
smile upon her lips, she said, — 

“ Yes, it is my darling. I should know those beauti- 
ful eyes anywhere. The years cannot change them. I 
have prayed God to bring you back to me, my Mar- 
guerite, and he has answered my prayer. I am ready to 
die. Kiss me — good-by — my children.” 

Recie and Majella gave the caress tearfully. Retta 
clung to her passionately for a moment, then hid her 
face on her husband’s breast with a wild storm of sobs. 
Was this the end of all her dreaming? After the years 
of separation, had she found her mother only to see her 
die ? 

“You know my story, Carl,” Christine whispered, 
raising her dim eyes to his face. 

“ Yes, I know ; and you thought it a barrier between 
us. You thought it would make a difference with my 
love for you ?” 

“ I feared it might, and I could not tell you, but I am 
glad you know it at last and. do not despise me. Good- 


258 MAJELLA; OR, 

night. It will soon be morning. Then we shall meet 
again.” 

Tell me one thing,” he cried, eagerly, “ it may make 
the burden of sorrow easier to bear. Tell me, Tina, do 
you love me ?” 

With a great effort she raised her death-chilled hands 
and drew his face down to hers. What she said the 
others never knew, but, when he lifted his head .again, 
there was a strange light in his eyes and a tender smile 
on his lips, though Christine was dead. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

They laid Christine de Verre to rest close by the 
brooklet that wandered through the church-yard. 

“ It will remind her,” Majella said, ” if anything can 
remind the dead, of the river that flowed by the old gray 
church in the village across the sea.” 

- Every evening, just at sunset. Dr. Vanberg came over 
the meadows and through the little town. 

“ He’s going to her grave,” the villagers said to each 
other. “ How much he thought of her.” “ Strange, 
Miss Christine never married, and, stranger still, who 
that dark, handsome young woman could have been 
who cried so at the funeral !” “ Ah, well ! If there 
were any secrets, they are buried now, and ’t isn’t no- 
ways likely they’ll ever be resurrected.” 

Recie and Majella went back to the cottage, and 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


259 


took up the routine of their life again. Retta invited 
them to spend the winter with her in Swindon, while the 
doctor proposed writing to Colonel Heathburn, who, he 
felt sure, would be glad to welcome the blind girl to her 
old home. He would pay Recie’s board there, or, if she 
preferred it, send her to school, but both girls declined 
these kind offers, — Recie, because she could not leave 
the farm ; for “ what would become of Golden and Bess 
and the chickens ?” Majella, because she did not wish 
to return to the Lawn. 

Some day, when time had dulled the heartache, which 
she felt it could never heal, she might go back to the 
beautiful home where the shadows had gathered so 
darkly, but not now, when every flower in the garden, 
every article of furniture in the rooms, every voice that 
echoed through the lonely halls would remind her of that 
far-off grave, where the dream of her girlhood was lying. 

No, they could not leave the cottage, at least not until 
spring; so the kind doctor secured a trusty German 
woman to attend to the cows and do the heaviest house- 
work. 

It was very lonely during the dark, rainy autumn and 
the chill, gray winter, but the girls found comfort in their 
work and in each other, and slowly, but surely, the old 
clock on the mantel ticked the days and weeks and 
months away. 

One evening early in April, when the rain-drops 
dimmed the sunshine and the sunshine gilded the rain, 
Recie came home from the post-office with a thin blue 
envelope in her hand. 

“ It must be from Dr. Vanberg !” she exclaimed, as 
she dropped into a chair. 

“ You remember that evening after his uncle’s funeral, 


26 o MAJELLA ; OR , 

when he called to say good-by, we asked him to 
write ?” 

“ Yes, but he did not promise. I am sure there must 
be something important. Do see what it is !” 

Recie tore open the letter and read aloud, — 

“ My dear Children, — I arrived in Swindon last night 
— had a talk with my old friend. Dr. Schreinhurst in re- 
gard to your eyes, Majella. He can see no reason why 
you cannot receive your sight. He is anxious to un- 
dertake the case, and wishes you to come to him at once. 
I think it is your duty to make the trial, which, I believe, 
will prove successful. I would come for you myself, 
were not Recie perfectly capable of acting as your es- 
cort I enclose my address. Hoping to see you soon, 
I am. Yours truly, 

“ Carl Frederick Vanberg.” 

Three days later Recie and Majella left the Willow 
Road Station at 7.00 a.m., hoping to reach their destina- 
tion before dark, but connections proved defective, and 
it was 5.00 P.M. when they pulled out of the depot at 
A , and commenced the run along the river to Swin- 

don, where they would not arrive until ten o’clock in the 
evening. 

“ You look so tired, Mella,” Recie said, anxiously, as the 
train stopped at Rock Cove twenty minutes for refresh- 
ments. “ Shall I get you a cup of tea or a glass of 
milk ?” 

“ I would like the milk,” Majella confessed ; but it 
would be too much trouble, I fear.” 

“Oh, no! I shall enjoy the exercise;” and the girl 
hastened away. Minutes passed. People returned to 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


261 


their seats. The lamps were lighted and the bell began 
to ring. Then the train moved faster and faster, until it 
seemed to fly ; and Recie had not returned. 

Never before had the blind girl so fully realized her 
utter helplessness. What could she do alone and with- 
out money, for Recie had the pocket-book as well as 
the address ? She grew sick with fear and dread. 

Can I be of any assistance to you, my child? You 
seem worried about something.” 

The voice was sweet and refined, and Majella recog- 
nized at once that it was a lady who addressed her. 

” I am in trouble, madam,” she answered, with a burst 
of tears, which nature could not restrain. “ My friend, 
with whom I was travelling, went out to get a glass of 
milk for me and did not return. We were going to 
Swindon to see an oculist, but I cannot find my way 
alone, for I am blind ? What shall I do ?” 

For a moment the lady was silent. Then, with a 
promptness which Majella afterwards learned was a char- 
acteristic, she replied, — 

” You shall go home with me and stay until your 
friend arrives, which will probably be on the early morn- 
ing train. We will send a telegram informing her where 
you are. I live quite alone, and am always delighted 
when I can coax people to visit me.” 

” Oh ! madam, how can I thank you for your kind- 
ness ?” 

” By simply accepting it. Now, will you not tell me 
your name ?” 

Majella hesitated a moment, then, thinking it would be 
better to keep the name by which she had been known 
at Willow Road, she answered, ” Miss More.” 

Why, that is a coincidence !” cried the lady. ‘‘ My 


262 


MAJELLA; OR, 


name is More, also. Ah, here we are at the station. 
Give me your hand, my dear.” 

She helped the blind girl to the platform, where a car- 
riage stood waiting. Into this the two ladies stepped, 
and were driven rapidly through the town and along the 
highway to Lone Wood, a rambling old house, dismal 
enough in winter, but very pleasant when the vines 
climbed over and covered it with a web of green. 

Majella and her new-found friend had a charming 
supper. After which the blind girl was led to a fresh, 
sweet room, where, despite her anxiety for Recie, she 
was soon fast asleep. 

Not so with Mrs. More. Hour after hour she sat in 
her quiet chamber, her eyes fixed upon a photograph 
lying before her, a dim, old-fashioned picture of a beau- 
tiful girl. 

The mistress of Lone Wood was still handsome, for, 
although her hair was perfectly white, her eyes were 
dark and lustrous, and her face very fair. 

A keen observer might have recognized the resem- 
blance between her and the likeness in the velvet case, 
and have guessed that they were one and the same. 

“ How foolish I am !” she exclaimed at last, rising and 
putting the picture resolutely away. “ Of course, it is 
the merest chance, — and yet, the beautiful girl I found 
to-day could easily pass as the original of that photo- 
graph. Can I never outgrow this fancy ? Shall I always 
see my child in every fair face I chance to meet ?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


263 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. 

“ Good-morning, Miss More. Did you rest well ?” 

“ Very well, thank you. Has anything been heard 
from Miss Strawson ?” 

“ Not yet. The operator at Rock Cove, to whom I 
telegraphed last night, replied that no one answering 
the description was in the depot. I think she must 
have taken the wrong train. If my supposition is cor- 
rect, she cannot possibly return and reach here before 
afternoon. I hope you will feel no anxiety on her ac- 
count. She is certainly capable of taking care of her- 
self, and, selfish as it may seem, I am glad of the accident 
that has brought you to me, and I am sure my guests 
will be glad to make your acquaintance.” 

“ Then there is company in the house ?” 

“ Not at present but I expect visitors, or, at least, one 
visitor this afternoon. The gentleman may not arrive 
until to-morrow, but Mrs. Allingford will come to-day.” 

“ Allingford ! Louise Allingford ?” 

“ I believe that is her name. Do you know her?” 

“ I used to know her before she was married.” 

Ah, indeed ? Then it is I who am the stranger and 
you the old friend. I only met her a week ago at River 
View, where she is visiting the Smythes. She men- 
tioned Lone Wood, and said she had heard it was very 
beautiful in spring, so I invited her and her husband to 


M A JELL A; OR, 


264 

spend two or three days with me. She is a very beauti- 
ful and accomplished woman. Who was she before her 
marriage ? I don’t remember having heard her name.” 

” She was Louise Heathburn, Colonel Heathburn’s 
daughter, of Laurellawn.” 

“ Louise Heathburn ! His daughter? Laurellawn ?” 

“Yes. Do you know the Heathburns? Were you 
ever at Laurellawn ?” 

“ I spent a whole summer there once, but it was years 
ago, when I was only a little girl, and Dick — Colonel 
Heathburn, I mean — was scarcely more than a boy.” 

“ What was your name then ?” Majella asked, her 
voice trembling with an excitement she could not con- 
trol. Mrs. More hesitated for a moment, then replied, — 

‘"My name was Madelon Kingston.” 

“And Judge Kingston!” Majella said, rising to her 
feet, her face deathly pale, her voice scarcely above a 
whisper, “ what relative is he ?” 

“ He is my father,” Mrs. More replied. “ Why do 
you ask ?” 

“ Because,” the girl answered, with sudden calmness, 
“ he is my grandfather.” 

It was as though a great light had flashed into their 
souls,. illuminating not only the present but the shadowy 
vistas of the past, driving out the darkness and making 
all clear and plain. In that moment, without asking 
how or why, Majella knew that the woman standing 
there was her mother, Madelon, whom she had believed 
to be lying in that grave in far-off France. And with 
equal certainty Mrs. More knew that, by a simple act 
of kindness, she had found her child. After a score of 
years her lost Lynola stood before her, the baby of Cha- 
teau des Roses grown to womanhood 1 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


265 

What they said or did in the next half-hour they 
never could remember, but when the tidal wave of joy 
had subsided somewhat, leaving the sea of emotion com- 
paratively calm, Majella said, — 

“ Now, mother, tell me how it all happened. Who is 
the Madelon buried in the old garden ? How did you 
make Christine and my father and every one believe 
you were dead, and how do you happen to be living 
here as Mrs. More ?” 

“ Patience, my darling. I will tell you all. The story 
is not a long one. As you already know my life at the 
chateau and Christine's kindness (Majella had given a 
brief outline of her eventful history), I need not speak 
of those things now. After Christine took you away, I 
lay in a semi-conscious state waiting for my husband’s 
return, but he did not come, and, stranger still, I did 
not die. Little by little I regained my strength. I did 
not want to live, and only the fear of the future kept me 
from taking my own life. One day old Jacques’s daugh- 
ter Madelon, who had lost her mind in consequence of 
an unfortunate love affair, was taken very ill and died 
within a few hours. I suggested sending to the village 
for help, but the old man objected. ' No prying eye 
should look upon his unhappy child,’ he declared, so he 
dug her grave himself, and buried her in a coffin he had 
made. Sitting by the little mound that evening, an idea 
occurred to me, and, with my usual thoughtlessness, I 
resolved to act upon it. By the merest chance the dead 
girl’s name was the same as mine. No one had heard 
of her sickness, while the people at the convent knew I 
was ill and would not be surprised to hear of my death. 
Everything favored my plan. I called the old servant 
and gave him my orders. He was to erect a simple 

18 


266 


MAJELLA; OR, 


cross at the grave with the one word ‘ Madelon’ upon 
it. When my husband and any visitors came to the 
chateau and* asked for me, he was to tell them that I had 
died suddenly, and — by my own request — he had buried 
me. They, seeing the name, would never doubt his 
story ; while I, with my hateful ties broken, could go 
out into the world a free woman once more. Jacques 
was very fond of me, and he promised to do exactly as 
I wished. That night Mrs. More went out from the 
chateau to begin life anew, while Madelon Moranno took 
her place in the other Madelon’s grave ! I went to Paris 
and rented a room in a quiet hotel, where I remained 
until I had recovered my health. Then I began to look 
for my baby, but in vain. Child and nurse seemed to 
have utterly disappeared. After years of wandering I 
gave up the search, believing Lynola to be dead. I 
came to America and purchased Lone Wood. By this 
time the money which I had earned as an actress was 
nearly exhausted. I was too proud to appeal to my 
father for help, so I commenced writing articles for the 
magazines, which have since yielded me a liberal in- 
come. I often saw the Heathburns mentioned in the 
papers, and remember reading of Majella’s mysterious 
disappearance, but I had no idea it was my child. I 
never for a moment dreamed that Christine would take 
you to Laurellawn, though I remember giving her a 
minute description of the place.” 

“ But she said you told her to take me there if she 
could not support me herself.” 

“ Then I must have been delirious. Indeed, I do not 
think I was responsible for anything I said during those 
days of trouble and despair.” 

“ Ah, there is the bell ! The Allingfords must have 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 26 / 

arrived. I sent the carriage for them, though I hardly- 
expected they would come until the next train;” and 
Mrs. More hurried away to welcome her guests. 

Majella did not go down to lunch. She had a head- 
ache, she said, and Mrs. More did not urge her, although 
she would have enjoyed presenting her new-found daugh- 
ter to her visitors. 

That evening, as the blind girl sat by the bright wood- 
fire in her room, the door suddenly opened, and, with a 
little scream of delight, Recie threw her arms around 
her friend. 

Oh, my poor, lost darling !” she exclaimed. I’ve 
been worried almost to death !” 

“ So have I, Recie. But tell me how you came to be 
left?” 

“ Oh, it was all that dreadful man, Lewis Delmayne ! 
He was at the station and followed me about. I was 
afraid he would see you and make you go back to Mont- 
gomery, so I bought a ticket for Nelson, and pretended 
to take the train on the other side of the depot. He 
followed and entered the smoking-car. Then I slipped 
out and hurried back to you, but, oh, horrors ! you were 
gone. I was nearly frightened to death. As I was just 
going to have them telegraph to the next station for you 
to wait till I could come, I looked around and there 
stood Delmayne watching me. I made up my mind to 
put him off the track, let the consequences be what they 
might. So I took the eastern-bound train, and, of course, 
he did the same. At Nelson I got off, and asked how I 
could return to Rock Cove. They said not until eight 
o’clock the next morning. Of course, I was horrified, 
but I went to a hotel and made the best of it. This 
morning I came back to the Cove, where I found Mrs. 


268 


M A JELL A; OR, 


More’s telegram. That comforted me a little ; still, I was 
on pins and needles until I saw you safe and sound, you 
dear, persecuted little thing !” 

“ Poor Recie ! I’m sorry you had such an unpleasant 
experience. But do you know something wonderful has 
happened ?” And she proceeded to relate how she had 
discovered her mother. Have you seen her yet ?” 
she inquired, when Recie’s expressions of joy had some- 
what subsided. 

“ Only a moment. She wanted me to come to the 
library when I was through talking with you. I think 
I had better go at once,” and the energetic girl hastened 
down-stairs. 

Uncertain on which side of the hall the library was 
situated she paused a moment, then seeing a door ajar 
she pushed it open and entered. At the farther end of 
the apartment a young man was standing with his back 
towards her. 

Evidently she had made a mistake. This was the 
parlor, and she was about to step quietly out of the 
room when the stranger turned suddenly towards her. 
In the brilliant light she could see his face distinctly. 
“ Lewis Delmayne !” she exclaimed, in a horrified whis- 
per. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


269 


CHAPTER XL. 

FREE. 

By George, my pretty lass ! Is it you ? This is an 
unexpected pleasure. How did you chance to drop 
down here ?” 

^‘That is just the question I was going to ask you. 
What right have you in this house ?” 

“ The right of an invited guest, my fair inquisitor. I 
am one of Mrs. More’s particular friends, you see.” 

” You^ Lewis Delmayne?” 

“ Hush ! Can’t you speak a little lower ? I don’t care 
for every one to hear me called by that name.” 

” Why, isn’t it yours ?” 

Well, not exactly. At least, not the one I inherited, 
though I have used it so much it seems quite natural.” 

“ What is your name, then ?” 

Suppose I don’t choose to tell you ?” 

** I shall ask Mrs. More,” moving towards the door. 

Oh, come ! I’m not ready to part with such charm- 
ing company. My name, since you insist upon it, is 
Jasper Allingford.” 

“ Jasper Allingford ! Why, that was the man who 
married Louise Heathburn !” 

*‘Just so. And I was that man; more fool I.” 

“ But, if you already had a wife, how could you marry 
Miss Moranno?” 

“ I couldn’t. That was the rub.” 


2/0 


MAJELLA; OR, 


But you did.” 

“ I pretended to, my fair innocent. Have you never 
heard of such things as shams ?” 

“ And was your marriage a sham ? Has Majella 
never been your wife ?” 

“ That is about the size of it. Where are you going ?” 
as Recie turned towards the door. 

** Going to tell Mella, and Mrs. More, and every one 
what a villain you are.” 

Stir hand or foot, make a sound, and you are a 
corpse.” 

With a series of movements, almost too swift to be 
followed, he had raised his hand, slipped it in his breast- 
pocket, and taken out a revolver, which he held levelled 
at the girl’s heart. 

Recie Strawson was no coward, yet her heart seemed 
to cease its beating. She felt that this man, whom she 
believed had already stained his soul with his uncle’s 
blood, would not hesitate to take her life. 

“ Come,” he said, with a sneer, “ I don’t care to shoot 
you. It wouldn’t be much sport. I only act in self- 
protection. My wife isn’t an angel, or even a distant 
relation of that distinguished family. She is in the 
house, and there would be no end of a row if she heard 
of my little holiday in Montgomery. Raise your right 
hand, and swear never to reveal what you have discovered 
to-night and you may go ‘ scot-free.’ ” 

“And let Majella believe herself bound to such a 
miserable scoundrel ?” 

“ Certainly. That is none of your bread and butter. 
Come, be quiet about it, too. Our little interview may 
be interrupted. Promise, or I fire !” 

The girl stood motionless. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


271 


“ Speak !” he hissed through his clinched teeth. 

Life was sweet to her, for she was in its morning, but 
truth and loyalty were sweeter. 

“Fire, if you choose,” she said, in a low, calm voice; 
“but I shall not die until I have told the truth.” 

“ Then you will tell it soon.” 

His fingers moved upon the deadly weapon. The girl 
closed her eyes. Her hour had come. A swish of the 
draperies. A sudden movement, and the revolver fell 
with a crash to the floor. Recie opened her eyes and 
saw a tall, beautiful woman, with a crown of auburn hair, 
standing between her and her enemy. 

“Ah, Jasper Allingford!” the new-comer said, and, 
although her voice was scarcely above a whisper, every 
word seemed to vibrate through the room like a bell, 
“ you were not aware you had another listener behind 
the curtains. You would kill that girl, lest she should 
reveal your secret. What will you do with me^ your 
lawfully wedded wife ?” 

“ And what will you do with me^ Lewis Delmayne ? 
How will you silence the girl whom you trapped and 
tricked and deceived into a marriage which, thank God, 
was not a marriage?” 

They turned and saw Majella standing on the thresh- 
old, Mrs. More standing beside her. 

“ The game is up !” the man muttered, with an oath. 
“ The wolves are on my track. Let them fight it out.” 

He parted the draperies and entered the music-room. 
A moment later, the opening and closing of one of the 
long windows betrayed the fact that the cowardly wretch 
had fled. 

Louise picked up the revolver which she had struck 
from her husband’s hand, and turned slowly towards the 


272 


MAJELLA; OR, 


little group. The fostered pride of a lifetime rose and 
sustained her in this trying hour. 

Now, what does this mean ?” she demanded, with an 
air of an outraged queen. “ Mrs. More, why did you 
invite me to a house where I have received only insult ? 
Majella, what did you mean by your insinuations? And 
you, girl, what have you to say in self-defence ?” 

“ I have much to say, Mrs. Allingford,” Recie replied, 
her diminutive figure seeming to rise and expand in the 
intensity of her feelings. Then, with a burst of indig- 
nation that swept all before it, she told the story of Lewis 
Delmayne, from that night in Montgomery, when he had 
called on Majella in the guise of her father’s friend, to 
the previous evening when he had appeared so unex- 
pectedly at Rock Cove. 

“ But I do not pity you !” she cried, as Louise’s face 
grew white, while her slender fingers toyed with the 
revolver as if it had been a plaything. “ No, I do not 
pity you. You are only reaping your just reward. I 
know how you scorned Majella because she was poor 
and nameless and blind. I know how you tried to send 
her to a foundling asylum ; and I can imagine, though 
she never told me, how all through the years you 
snubbed and slighted her and made her feel her depend- 
ence. Now it is her time to triumph ! Permit me to 
introduce to you Mrs. More’s daughter. Judge King- 
ston’s granddaughter, a girl with a name, a fortune, and 
a family !” 

Louise listened in silence to all Recie had to say. 
Then she turned to Majella with a strange smile upon 
her lips. 

“ Now is your opportunity,” she said. “ That girl’s 
accusations are true. I did despise and scorn you, and 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


273 


would gladly have driven you from Laurellawn, but I 
have failed. The day of retribution has come, as novel- 
ists say, — it always does. Now you can pay the old 
debts with interest. Now you can improve the chance 
for revenge which fate has given you.” 

“ Hush, Louise !” the blind girl cried. “ Why should 
you speak so wildly ? I have no wrongs to be revenged. 
If there was anything unpleasant in the old life it has 
long since been forgotten. I have only a memory of 
my happy childhood. Why should we speak harshly to 
each other, you and I, who loved the same gentle little 
sister ? For her sake, for Victor’s sake, let us forget the 
wrong, which, after all, is against us both, and from this 
night be friends.” 

She extended her hand with a gentle, pleading gesture. 
For a moment Louise looked at her in wonder, then, 
without accepting the offered pledge of friendship, she 
turned and left the room, murmuring as she went up the 
stairs, — 

“ Yes, ’tis true. ‘ We reap as we have sown.’ I 
scattered my grain with a lavish hand, and I am only 
gathering my harvest !” 

CHAPTER XLI. 

“according to thy faith.” 

A LARGE pleasant room in Dr. Schreinhurst’s private 
residence. Subdued tints of gold and brown in carpet 
and draperies. House-plants here and there, and a 
canary in a cage by the window. An old man seated 
in an easy-chair, and beside him, reclining on a sofa, 
Majella, — Majella, no longer “ nameless and blind.” 


274 


MAJELLA; OR, 


The God of all goodness had heard and answered her 
prayer. When in the dim light of the early morning 
the bandages had been removed, and with a wild throb- 
bing at her heart she had opened her eyes, it was to see ! 
The dream of her childhood was realized. In His own 
good time the all-wise Father had granted her request. 
Once more the words of the Great Physician had echoed, 
— “ According to thy faith be it u7ito thee A 

Although she was grateful to the skilled doctor who 
had wrought the cure, yet she felt that it was who 
had sent his servant to heal his stricken child. That 
night for the first time in fifteen years she did not add 
to her prayer that pitiful petition for sight. Instead, she 
promised that, with increased blessings and opportunities, 
faith and service should be increased. 

Only one shadow saddened Majella’s heart. There 
was the sunshine she had so longed to see, the flowers 
whose fragrance had been to her their only beauty, 
there the books whose knowledge she had gained through 
others ; but, alas, among the faces smiling down at her 
the one she loved the most was missing! The light 
which had driven away the darkness of a lifetime could 
not pierce the shadow-land of death, and call the wan- 
dering spirit back or lift from its lowly pillow the face 
beneath the Cornish sand. The light of earth cannot 
illumine the darkness of the grave, the love of earth 
cannot recall the souls the pale-faced boatman has rowed 
over the stream whence none return. 

“ Oh, Victor ! Victor!” she whispered, turning her face 
to the wall, “ do you know, in that far-off land where 
you have gone, how to-day in my gladness I want you 
more than ever before? It may be sinful, God forgive 
me if it is, but, beautiful as the new world is to me, I 


//A MB LESS AND BLIND, 


275 


would give it up without a sigh and be blind forever, if 
it would bring you back caring for me as you did in the 
old days when I was only Majella, nameless and blind 
and poor 1” 

But in the new life opening before her with youth, 
beauty, wealth, friends, it was hardly natural that Majella 
should remain despondent. The memory of the past 
was as a mist, softening and subduing the wild joy of 
the present. 

** Now, grandpa, tell me all about it,” Majella said, 
laying her hand on the old man’s arm. “ How did you 
know I had found my mother, and how did you happen 
to discover us here in Swindon ?” 

Well, well, my dear. I’ll tell you,” smiling down at 
her. “ You see,” he continued, taking up the little white 
hand and caressing it tenderly, “ I always did have an 
impression that you belonged to me. I felt it that first 
evening when I met you at Laurellawn. But I had no 
positive proof, and I am not a man to act on impressions. 
I mentioned my fancy to Dr. Vanberg one day, and he 
said if ever he found any clue to your parentage he 
would let me know. It did not then seem probable 
that promise would be fulfilled, but we little know what 
the future holds in store. When Vanberg met you 
here and heard your story he wrote at once to me and 
I — I let no grass grow under my feet when I knew that 
my granddaughter lost so long, and my daughter whom 
I had believed to be dead these many years, were scarcely 
thirty miles away.” 

And you met mother in the hall and knew her at 
once ?” 

Yes, she had been out for a walk. I followed her 
into the house and recognized her partially by Vanberg’s 


276 M A JELL A; OR, 

description, partially because time can never wholly 
change our children.” 

“ Oh, I wish I had been present ! What a meeting 
it would have been ! And I had planned what I should 
say to make it all right.” 

It was all right, my dear. The past, with its sor- 
rows and mistakes, was forgotten, spanned by a bridge 
of love. No forgiveness was asked, — none granted, but 
we understood each other.” 

“ It seems too good to be true !” Majella exclaimed. 

Sometimes I fear it is a dream from which I shall soon 
awaken.” 

“Then you had better enjoy it while it lasts,” laughed 
Mrs. Moranno, as we shall now call her, taking a seat 
near her daughter. 

“ And get strong as soon as possible,” suggested 
Recie, who also entered at that moment. “ Bess and 
Golden will quite forget me if I do not go home before 
long, and I cannot leave until you are through with 
me.” 

“ Then you will not go at all,” replied Majella, “ for I 
shall never, never be through with you.” 

“Ah, Miss Therese!” cried the judge; “you see you 
are elected for life; but don’t worry, little girl. When 
we are settled at Interlaken, you and I will take a trip to 
Lancaster and see what can be done with the old farm. 
As for Bess and Golden (as you call them), if they need 
your care and are worthy of it, we’ll just put them on 
board the train and ship them north. The grass is just 
as green in my pastures as at Willow Road. By the by. 
Dr. Schreinhurst says, Gf nothing happens, Majella can 
go home on Thursday.’ ” 

Thursday came, and, with many cautions and instruc- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 2 // 

tions from the learned doctor, our little party took its 
departure. 

The day was nearly done when Judge Kingston’s 
handsome bays turned into the broad drive winding 
around Silver Lake and up to the white cottage, where 
everything was ready for the reception of Majella and 
the long-absent mistress of Interlaken. 

As they drove up the somewhat abrupt slope, the 
apple-trees swayed their boughs in the evening breeze, 
and scattered a shower of pink and white petals on the 
grass by the way. Madelon was very silent. It may 
be she was thinking of another day, thirty years be- 
fore, when the apple blossoms fell as they did now, 
and she, but a light-hearted girl, bade good-by to the 
home to which she was now returning a weary, saddened 
woman. 

When the carriage drew up before the broad veranda 
Judge Kingston sprang to the ground with almost 
youthful agility and assisted his daughter to alight. On 
the piazza she met a tall, distinguished-looking man, 
who took her hands in his, as he exclaimed, — 

Welcome home, Madelon ! Welcome back to Inter- 
laken.” 

For a moment she looked at him in wonder; then, in 
a voice scarcely above a whisper, she said, — 

“ Thank you, Richard and he knew she was glad 
the meeting was over ; glad for those simple, kindly words 
which removed all embarrassment and placed them on a 
friendly footing. 

Meanwhile, Majella arose from her seat, and extended 
her hands to her grandfather, but some one was too quick 
for the old gentleman. Some one took her in his arms, 
and, instead of placing her on the ground, carried her 


278 


M A JELL A; OR, 


Up the steps, across the veranda and into the wide hall, 
where, after a moment’s careful scrutiny, he ejaculated, — 

“ Well, by Jove !” as if the whole matter were summed 
up in that comprehensive expression. 

“ Oh, Harley ! Is it really you ?” Majella cried in de- 
light. 

“ I rather guess it is, all that is left of me. Of course 
I’m terribly withered up after these ages of absence, but 
what’s the matter with your hair ? I supposed you’d be 
quite gray by this time ; and, ’pon my soul, I don’t be- 
lieve there’s a crow’s track to tell of all the years that 
have fled !” 

And lifting the fair flushed face, he kissed it heartily. 

Then espying a slender figure on the threshold, he 
hastened towards it, and before Majella could offer any 
explanation, caught Recie’s hands with an energy which 
made that young lady vie with the peony in the yard, as 
he exclaimed, — 

So you’re the girl that took care of Midget, are you, 
and saved her from those old grizzlies ? Well, if I’ve 
got a heart stowed away in my anatomy, it has a warm 
spot in it for you ! I tell you what it is, I judge people’s 
Christianity by the way they treat Majella. If they 
misuse her, they may as well get accustomed to brim- 
stone one time as another, for they’ll have plenty of it 
in * Sweet By and By.’ Yes, I’m grateful to you. Miss 
Straw — Straw — I’ll be scalped, if I know ! Stram what ? 
But Majella calls you Rede, and Rede it shall be to the 
end of the chapter.” 

“ Isn’t he perfectly splendid !” Rede cried, as she 
stood in her friend’s room a half hour later. 

“ Who ? Colonel Heathburn ?” 

“ No. Harley, of course !” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 279 

Why, I don’t know,” Majella answered, doubtfully. 
“ He’s good, but — but he isn’t handsome.” 

“ Well, he’s big and strong, and sort of — of — I don’t 
know how to express it; but one wouldn’t be afraid of 
snakes, or anything, if he were with them. He’s sort of 
heroic, — that’s what I mean.” 

Majella laughed merrily. She had never thought of 
Harley as a hero, and yet he was true and generous, and 
it was very pleasant to have him and the colonel there. 
They made a kind of family party, and reminded her of 
old times. Cfily. Ah, the pathos one word may ex- 
press ! 


CHAPTER XLII. 

ECHOES AND ANSWERS. 

“ Good-evening, ladies ! Isn’t this a perfect night ?” 
Harley exclaimed, as he drew rein before the western 
piazza at Interlaken, where Majella and her mother were 
seated, admiring the beautiful scene as the golden glow 
of the sunset lingered on the waveless surface of Lake 
Echo. I’ve come to fulfil my promise, Mella,” Harley 
said, as he mounted the steps two at a time. “ I’ll take 
you to-night to hear the echo. Where are the judge and 
Miss Recie ? Haven’t they returned from Lancaster ?” 

“ Not yet. We expect them to-morrow. But I 
thought, perhaps, your father would accompany you.” 

“ Oh, he’s wagging along somewhere, with Solitude 
and Swiftfoot for companions. It’s wonderful what there 
is in a name. That horse will positively make a mile in 


28 o 


MAJELLA; OR, 


fifteen minutes, providing, of course, conditions are 
favorable. There he comes, now. * Behold the foam- 
flecked steed dash up the rugged steep!’ That’s a 
quotation, but the author is dead. Well, Mrs. Moranno, 
will you and father accompany us, or do you prefer easy- 
chairs in the parlor to seats in the Wavesprite 

“Thank you, we prefer the parlor,” Colonel Heath- 
burn answered, promptly; and the hostess offered no 
objections, though she looked a little anxiously at her 
fair young daughter as she went down the path to the 
sand-strewn shore, where the Wavesprite lay at anchor 
in Judge Kingston’s snug boat-house. 

“ Now for the echo 1” Harley cried, when they were 
half-way down the lake, well in towards the eastern shore. 
Putting up the oars, he took his cornet from its case and 
commenced playing snatches of popular airs, frequently 
pausing to hear the result. 

Over the water from the wooded shore came the notes 
he had just played, repeated with wonderful distinctness 
and precision. The next moment the same air floated 
down from the northward, and after the briefest silence 
the great black rocks to the westward answered the echo 
with a tremulous, broken strain. 

“ How beautiful it is I” Majella cried, in wonder. “The 
name is indeed appropriate. It is Lake Echo, and yet 
how low and mournful the music sounds from far away. 
’Tis like the memory of the past. Even the merriest 
notes are subdued and saddened when they are only 
echoes.” 

“ Majella,” Harley said, suddenly putting down the 
cornet, “ would you refuse to breathe because you could 
not find the breeze that blew last night ? Would you 
refuse to gather flowers because last year’s roses are 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


281 


dead ? Will you grieve forever, darkening your whole 
life with yesterday’s shadows? Have you no aim, no 
mission ?” 

“ Yes, Harley, I have an aim. I know you are right. 

I know I should be braver, but ’tis so hard to forget ! 
That day at Swindon, when I realized that God had 
answered my prayer and given me my sight, I promised 
Him that, if I could not be happy myself, I would, at 
least, try to make others so.” 

“ That’s a creed to my liking. When will you begin ?” 

“ To-night, if there is an opportunity. Can I do aught 
to make you happy ?” 

“ Yes, you can, but you will not ; and you would only 
laugh if I told you.” 

“ Do you think I would ridicule anything so sacred as 
a promise made to God? No, Harley, I am in earnest. 
Tell me what it is. I will do anything to make you 
happy.” 

“ Then be my wife !” 

The waves, wakened by the evening wind, splashed 
faintly on the shore; the light craft drifted into the 
shadows the woodland threw upon the water, and Ma- 
jella drew her shawl closer about her shoulders, and 
shivered in the warm June night. 

“ Don’t be angry with me, Majella,” Harley said at 
last, his voice strangely sad and low ; “ I never meant to 
tell you this, but, now the mischief is done, I may as well 
face the truth. I have loved you always, ever since the 
night you came to us, a wild, frightened little thing. Of 
course you belonged to Victor. I never questioned his 
rights, but it did no harm to dream sometimes, and 
I kept my secret well. No one guessed how I cared ; 
how often, during that last summer at the Lawn, I was 

19 


282 


MAJELLA; OR, 


tempted to tell you everything, to throw myself on your 
mercy. No one will ever know how many nights out on 
the wide prairie, when the boys lay sleeping around the 
camp-fire, I knelt beneath the dark night-sky, and asked 
God to bring you back to the old home that was so 
lonesome I could not stay in it. I knew you regarded 
me as a jolly, awkward fellow, fit only for a clown in a 
circus. I knew Victor was your hero, as he was every- 
one’s. I had no fortune at my cornmand, no future 
planned out for me. I was not born to be president ; 
and yet I loved my brother. I only envied him one of 
his many blessings. I only coveted the little girl he 
found in the storm ; and to-night, if I could call him 
back, I would give her up without a word. But I can- 
not. He has gone forever, and surely I now have a 
right to plead my cause.” 

He arose, regardless of the boat’s rocking, and came 
eagerly forward. 

“ Oh, Harley,” she cried, in terror, ” you will upset 
us !” 

“ I wish I would,” he answered, recklessly, taking her 
outstretched hands in his. “ I’ve half a mind to tip the 
old scow over now,” he continued, as he sat down beside 
her ; “ that would give me a chance to rescue you, and 
you would be so thankful you could not refuse to keep 
your word.” 

“ I have not refused,” she replied, slowly. “ I never 
intentionally broke a promise. But are you sure it 
would make you happy if — if I should answer as you 
wish ? Remember, I have no love, save that of a sister, 
to give you. My heart is buried in that grave across the 
sea. Would you be satisfied with my respect, my trust, 
my confidence ?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 283 

“ Satisfied ?” he echoed ; I will be satisfied with any- 
thing, if you will be my wife. I know I have always 
been the black sheep, Midget, but the color is only in 
the wool, and it may be my heart is as white as any- 
body’s.” 

“ Harley, dear, brave Harley !” she said, and her voice 
was almost tender in its earnestness ; “ I cannot reward 
you as you deserve, but, if you are sure it is for the best, 
I will keep my word. I will try to make you happy.” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT. 

In her exquisitely-furqished room at Cliffview-on-the- 
Hudson, Louise Allingford sat alone, an open letter 
lying on the table before her. 

The night was sultry, almost breathless. Occasion- 
ally vivid flashes of lightning darted across the leaden 
sky, followed by deep muttering thunder that rose and 
fell, and died away among the Highlands. 

She arose, closed the windows, and drew down the 
curtains. 

“ I dislike to see the lightning,” she said aloud, as she 
returned to her seat. 

” It used to frighten me, even as a child. I remember 
when it struck the old elm by the school-house, — how I 
hid my face on Jack Greythorn’s shoulder, and clung to 
him as if with him I was safe ; and if he were here to- 
night I should not be afraid. Nonsense ! how weak I 
am growing! Even a peal of thunder unnerves me. — 


284 


M A JELL A; OR, 


Ah ! there is a step on the stair. My lord and master 
is returning home earlier than usual. It must be the 
bartender down at the ‘ Merry-Maker’ is out of good 
wine.” 

The door opened and Jasper Allingford, alias Lewis 
Delmayne, entered the room. The three months which 
had elapsed since the night at Lone Wood, when his 
true nature had been so thoroughly illustrated, had not 
improved the heir of the Allingfords. 

From Mrs. More’s residence he went directly to 
New York City, where he joined a party of old friends, 
and plunged into a whirlpool of dissipation, which left 
its traces on face and form. 

You keep late hours, Louise,” he remarked, as he 
sauntered across the apartment. “ Waiting up for me, I 
suppose? Well, it’s fortunate I arrived before the 
storm. There’s a regular midsummer tempest bearing 
down upon us. But I had no idea you felt so much inter- 
est in my welfare.” 

“ Oh, it’s quite natural I should be anxious in regard 
to the safety of one in every way so worthy my homage, 
a man who has proved himself such an ornament to re- 
spectable society.” 

“Don’t allow yourself to be sarcastic, Mrs. Alling- 
ford. It’s not your most taking mood. What docu- 
ment is that?” pointing to the letter. 

“It is from my father. He has just learned of what 
he calls your diabolical villany. He wishes me to come 
home at once, to wash my hands forever of the deepest- 
dyed scoundrel that ever walked this sin-cursed earth. 
He further states, in his mild way, that, should you cross 
the threshold of Laurellawn, you will receive a warm 
welcome from a little toy that never misses the mark.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


285 


“ Give my compliments to mon pere, and inform him 
that I shall be happy to claim his hospitality should I 
ever chance to pass that way. May I inquire, madam, 
when you intend to leave Cliffview ?” 

“ I have no intention of leaving at all,” Louise replied, 
quietly, though she started and trembled as the lightning 
darted under the curtains, while the tempest broke in a 
wild discordant burst of sound. 

“ But I thought your father had written for you ?” 

So he has, but I shall not go.” 

What? You will remain after all that has hap- 
pened ?” 

” Certainly. Do you think I shall give up the price 
for which I sold myself, because the premium thrown in 
is a failure? Do you think I will resign my coveted 
place among the four hundred ? No, Jasper Allingford. 
I married you for your name, your wealth, and your 
position ; while they remain, I remain their mistress. 
You may go where you choose ; you may do what you 
please, but your conduct cannot humble me, or force me 
to return to my home, a disgraced, disappointed woman ! 
Pride urged me to marry you. Pride sustains me in 
your disgusting presence. Pride will keep and uphold 
me, let the future bring what it may. While it lasts, I 
am safe; when it fails, all is at an end.” 

Did she utter a prophecy ? For an instant that 
seemed an age the room was full of glittering, blinding 
balls of fire that darted and glanced and played about 
the floor like dwarfish demons in a dance. Then came 
the thunder, a noise as if the very Highlands were 
crashing down in one mighty deafening avalanche ! 

Statuary tottered from its place. Vases crumbled like 
egg-shells. Windows were broken in a thousand pieces. 


286 


M A JELL A; OR, 


Jasper Allingford fell heavily to the floor, but Louise 
stood calm and still, unharmed in the midst of the de- 
struction. 

Was it a moment, or was it an eternity ? She was 
roused from that strange forgetfulness of time and sense 
by a shrill cry that rose above the storm. 

“Fire! fire! fire I CliffView is on fire!” 

She crossed the room, opened the door, and looked 
out into the corridor. Up the winding staircase, like a 
serpent in search of its prey, came a scathing, leaping, 
hissing sheet of flame. 

Returning to her chamber, she caught her husband 
by- the shoulder and shook him violently. 

“Wake! wake!” she cried. “Escape for your life! 
The house is on fire !” 

He roused from his stupor and staggered to his feet. 

“ Follow me,” she commanded, and snatching up a 
thick rug from the floor she flung it around her shoul- 
ders, and blinded, breathless, sped down that red-paved 
road of fire, along the hall, and out into the lightning- 
cleft night. 

Jasper Allingford had been severely shocked by the 
bolt which brought ruin to his home. It was some 
time before he sufficiently recovered his senses to 
realize the danger of his position. Then he attempted 
to follow his wife, but the staircase was already a sway- 
ing, crumbling mass. 

Hastening to his own room, he called loudly for help, 
but his cry was drowned in the tumult. Rushing to the 
window, he gazed out into the night. Below, the mem- 
bers of the household were gathered, their faces white 
and frightened in the red light of the fire. 

Frenzied by terror, heedless of their cries, he stepped 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


287 


out upon the window-sill, flung his arms high above his 
head, and dropped among the horrified group, striking 
his head on the pavement before the door. 

“ Is there anything we can save, mistress ?” asked the 
old -butler. 

“ No,” Louise answered, slowly, there is nothing 
worth saving. At least, nothing worth risking life for, 
except a box in my room, that I will get myself.” 

With a wild, unreasoning impulse, she started towards 
the burning dwelling. 

“ Mistress, mistress !” the old man cried, catching her 
by the arm, “ you can’t go there ! Look !” and he 
pointed upward to where the flames could be distinctly 
seen leaping about the windows. 

” It is death, — certain death, I tell you !” 

Then I will die !” she answered, calmly. By a swift 
motion she shook off his hand, and with a gleam of 
madness in her eyes dashed through the kitchen, up the 
back stairs, along the fire-lined corridors, into the room 
where the flames were, indeed, holding high carnival. 

Unlocking the upper drawer of her dressing-case, she 
took out a violet velvet box, which she hid beneath the 
protecting rug, then commenced her return to the open 
air. 

But, alas ! who can describe that battle for life with 
the flames? They caught and crisped her long hair in 
their fiery fingers ; they licked her face with their ser- 
pent-like tongues ; they laughed and leaped about her 
feet; they coiled around her arms, and touched with 
their red-hot lips the little jewelled hands that clasped 
the treasure for which she was risking her life. 

“ Oh, God ! save me !’ she gasped, as she paused 
breathless and bewildered, a stranded bark in a mid^ 


288 


M A JELL A; OR, 


ocean of fire. “ I cannot die !” she cried, as she rushed 
fiercely on. “ I am too wicked — too sinful ! Let me 
live and I will repent!” 

On, on, through the blinding, blackening smoke. On 
through the maddening, merciless fire 1 

All earth seemed to sway on the brink of destruction. 
Then she fell down, down through the endless wastes 
of hungry flame, until oblivion, black and awful, closed 
for her the tragedy of that midsummer night. 

“ She is dead !” the old butler said, in an awe-struck 
whisper, as he lifted the blackened form from among the 
embers. 

They carried her to the gardener’s cottage, and when 
the women had removed the little clothing the pitiless 
flames had spared, they found next her heart the violet 
velvet case for which she had made the sacrifice. 


CHAPTER XLI.V. 

THE GHOST AT THE WEDDING. 

Louise Allingford did not die. Day after day, week 
after week, she lay in the little cottage by the river a 
helpless wreck of humanity, her proud spirit broken, the 
beauty of her girlhood gone forever. Ere she rose 
from that bed of pain the autumn leaves had fallen on 
Jasper Allingford’s grave. 

He had lived but a few hours after the tragedy of that 
fatal night. Before his death he laid bare the dark story 
of the past, — the deliberate murder of his uncle, the part 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 289 

he had taken in assisting Julian Moranno, an old gam- 
bling chum, to find and secure his daughter, the deceit 
to the innocent girl, and the marriage, which he knew 
was no marriage. He left a letter and a message for his 
wife. The letter was the one written by Retta in Mont- 
gomery, and contained the note to Victor. Louise had 
been absent from home when it arrived, and her husband, 
deciphering some reference to the blind girl, through the 
thin envelope, opened it, read the contents, and withheld 
it from those for whom it was intended. The message was 
also in regard to a letter which had reached New York 
the previous autumn, and which was postmarked at the 
little Indian village where Jack Greythorn was stationed. 

Jasper Allingford wondered what the missionary 
could have to say to his wife. He was about to satisfy 
his curiosity when he heard footsteps approaching. Fear- 
ing detection, he flung the letter into the fire. What it 
contained he had no idea, but he felt certain it was from 
Greythorn, because it bore the Indian postmark, and was 
addressed in a bold, manly hand. 

Louise made no complaints, offered no comments. 
White and wan she lay among her pillows, a marred 
diamond, a broken flower, a shadow of the past. Ma- 
jella and her mother came and nursed the sufferer with 
a tenderness that hurt her as no words of reproach 
could have done; yet during these weary days she 
learned to love the gentle girl with the strength of a 
nature whose depths had seldom been stirred in the 
mistakes and follies of the past. Late in November 
they took the invalid to Laurellawn. 

“ Don’t leave me, Majella,” she cried, clinging to the 
girl’s dress. “ Don’t go away. The house is full of 
ghosts, and I shall surely die if you leave me here alone.” 


290 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Colonel Heathburn added his entreaties to his daugh- 
ter’s, and with much reluctance Judge Kingston, Mrs. 
Moranno, Recie, and Majella took up their residence at 
the home among the laurels. 

Harley had not forgotten the echoes and answers of 
that June night at Interlaken. He pleaded his cause 
with all his native eloquence, and little by little, inch by 
inch, Majella yielded, just as she had yielded once before 
to a marriage which she felt to be unwise. 

The wedding was set for Christmas eve, and all the 
preparations were made. 

“ Colonel Heathburn, there — there is something I 
want to ask you,” Majella said, as they sat alone in the 
library the night before the bridal. 

“ Anything you wish, Mella,” he answered, promptly. 

“ Tell me, please, of your visit to England, — to Vic- 
tor’s grave. I know you went to Cornwall immediately 
after Mrs. Heathburn’s death, but I have never heard 
the particulars.” 

“ I found his grave on a cliff overlooking the sea, and 
I did not disturb it. The thought of disturbing our 
dead friends’ places of rest has always been repellent to 
me. The proofs of his identity were positive, and I de- 
cided to leave my boy alone on the stormy English 
coast, though I should feel more reconciled if my wife 
and children were sleeping together over yonder beneath 
the pines. I erected a monument to his memory, and 
hired a man to care for that lonely spot by the ocean.” 

“ And the proofs,” Majella said, her voice very low. 

“Were his note-book, found in the inside pocket of 
his ulster, and your likeness clasped in his hand. By 
little less than a miracle the photograph was left almost 
unharmed. Even in the hour of death he glung tg the 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


291 


picture of the little girl across the sea. Ah, Mella, few 
women are ever loved as Victor loved you ! There, 
there, child, do not weep ! Why should we sadden this 
Christmas-tide with a past we cannot recall ? Here is 
the picture I have saved for you.” 

The girl took it and glided away to the Snuggery, 
where a life-size portrait of Victor hung between the 
windows. 

She had studied that face until every line was familiar, 
until she felt that she should know the original any- 
where. To-night the deep gray eyes seemed to look 
down at her reproachfully, as if they would ask, — 

“ Why do you cling to a sorrow that is buried ? Why 
are you not satisfied with the new love, the new life, that 
awaits you ? Why will you not forget ?” 

“ I cannot, oh, I cannot !” she cried aloud, in answer 
to those fancied questions. “ Victor, it is all a cruel 
mistake ! I am wronging your memory, — wronging 
Harley, — wronging myself!” 

Then, why do you marry him ?” Recie said, stepping 
out from behind the curtains. “ Mella, you are an un- 
grateful girl I You do not value the happiness God has 
■given you. Any other woman would appreciate the 
gift of Harley Heathburn’s love 1” 

Majella looked at her in wonder. Did this girl, with 
the impulsive heart of her mother’s land, love the man 
she was going to ” marry to make him happy” ? 

“Ah, if it could be I” she murmured, as she went up 
the stairs. “ If Harley could love Recie, dear, warm- 
hearted Recie, and set me free I” 

The world was wrapped in its snow-white Christmas 
robe. The sky was studded with its myriad gems of 
light, and all the earth and all the air seemed filled with 


292 MAJELLA ; OR, 

a voiceful silence, — breathing the story of Bethlehem’s 
Child. 

Alone in the Snuggery stood Majella, the bride. 
“ Leave me here a little,” she had said to Recie, as they 
paused upon the threshold, I must bid him good-by 
forever and the girl had stolen away, thinking, with a 
throb at her heart, she too had a dream to bury that 
night. 

The guests were gathered in the parlors. Mrs. Grey, 
Mrs. Norfield, Penn, Retta and baby Blanche, Doctors 
Schreinhurst and Vanberg, the minister, the villagers 
whom Majella had known and loved when a child, and 
the members of the household with the exception of 
Louise. 

A rustle of silken garments, an echo of footsteps. 
The bride and groom entered quite unattended, for Ma- 
jella would have no display. They approached the 
flower- made altar and paused before the man of God, 
who read the opening sentences of the beautiful mar- 
riage service, then proceeded with the usual questions. 

‘ Wilt thou have this tvoman to be thy wedded wife f 
Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in 
sickness and in health, afid^ forsaking all others, keep thee 
only unto her, so long as ye both shall live T ” He paused, 
and waited for Harley’s answer, but no answer came. 

The minister was surprised, the guests astonished, 
the bride embarrassed. For a moment death-like stillness 
reigned. Then Majella looked up at her companion. 
Involuntarily her eyes followed his to the door-way 
leading into the hall where the servants were grouped. 

There, on the threshold clearly outlined in the bril- 
liant light, stood the living, breathing image of the por- 
trait in the Snuggery ! 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


293 


“ Victor!'' The word rang wild and clear through the 
silent rooms. Majella took one step forward, stretched 
out her little gloved hands, and fell fainting in Victor’s 
arms, — Victor, the ghost at the wedding ! 


CHAPTER XLV. 

A GENEROUS BRIDEGROOM. 

“ Now, Victor, tell us how it happened. How have you 
come back to us from that grave on the Cornish coast ?” 

Majella was lying on the sofa, her face still pale, 
though her eyes shone with a wonderful light, while her 
hand was clasped firmly in Victor’s. 

The others were gathered in an excited circle about 
them, all except Harley. He stood by the window, his 
eyes fixed intently on the lawn, where the snow lay 
white and cold in the moonlight. 

“ Yes, yes, — tell us !” the eager listeners cried. “ It is 
all an unsolvable mystery.” 

“ It can easily be explained,” Victor answered, gravely. 
“ However, I must go back to the morning when I 
watched the shores of America fade in the distance. 
Only one of my fellow-passengers attracted my atten- 
tion. I asked the captain his name, and you can 
imagine my surprise when he answered, ‘ Moranno, — 
Julian Moranno, of Montgomery.’ After that we fell 
into conversation, and I discovered that there were at 
least some redeeming points in Moranno’s treatment of 
his daughter. He had no idea Delmayne was so cun- 


294 


MAJELLA; OR, 


ning a villain as he proved himself to be. We had had 
a long talk in regard to Majella, one dark, foggy night. 
Moranno had gone to his state-room, but I remained on 
deck, thinking of the sorrow that had come to my little 
girl, and studying her picture (which I always carried) 
under the ship’s lamps. 

Scarcely half an hour had elapsed when the accident 
occurred. I need not try to describe the scene that fol- 
lowed. You have all read of it. Little time was given 
the passengers, most of whom were asleep in their 
berths. When I found Moranno, he was shivering in the 
chill night winds. I gave him my ulster, for, whatever 
his life had been, he was Majella’s father. As he crossed 
to the side of the ship where a boat was being lowered, 
I remembered the photograph which, in my haste, I had 
slipped in the ulster pocket. I told him to give it to 
me, for I felt I could die easier with that picture near, 
bringing back the simple, steadfast faith which, ridicule 
as I might, when the sea was calm and the sky unclouded, 
I needed now when death stared on every side. 

“ I saw him put his hand in the pocket and take out 
the card. Then a great wave swept over the deck, and 
when it had passed, Julian Moranno was gone forever. 
It was his body the fisherman found on the Cornish 
sands, encased in my ulster, my note-book in the pocket 
and Majella’s picture in his hand. 

“ When the ship went to pieces I caught a floating 
spar, and clung to it until, in the chill gray morning, an 
East India ship found and took me on board. They 
were very kind, but they could not prevent the results 
of that night’s exposure. When we reached India, I 
was raving with fever. The captain took me to an 
English hotel, placed me in the care of the proprietor. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 295 

and left, with many instructions to the trained nurse, 
whom he had secured. 

“ One morning I awoke, and saw a tall, bronzed man 
sitting beside me. It seemed to me there was some- 
thing familiar in the keen black eyes and clear-cut 
features, but it was some time before I could rally my 
scattered senses sufficiently to be sure it was Jack Grey- 
thorn. Kind-hearted old Jack, who, having heard of 
the sick American at the hotel, had hastened to his 
rescue in the hot, unhealthy city by the sea. 

“ When he found and recognized me, he had me trans- 
ferred to his home farther up among the hills. It was 
here I returned to consciousness and saw Jack sitting 
beside me, while his little daughter, Lola, watched me 
with her sad brown eyes, so much like her mother’s. 

“ ‘ Have you written home ?’ I asked one day, when I 
felt somewhat better. 

‘ No,’ Jack replied, * I have waited until you were 
entirely out of danger. However, I will write at once. 
To whom shall I direct ?’ 

“ ‘ To Louise,’ I replied. ^ My father is travelling in 
the West, and I am not sure of his address.’ 

“ That very afternoon Jack wrote to my sister, at my 
dictation, but the latter must have been lost on the way, 
for it seems it never reached America.” 

No one spoke, but Majella thought of the letter with 
the Indian postmark which Jasper Allingford had de- 
stroyed, and the mystery was solved. 

“ A few days later,” Victor continued, an insurrec- 
tion broke out among the natives. One night. Jack and 
I were captured, carried to an Indian village among the 
mountains, and given an experience of ten months’ abject 
slavery. 


296 


M A JELL A; OR, 


“ When, at last, the British troops rescued us and we 
returned to Jack’s old post, we found many letters 
awaiting him. In one of these letters was a detailed ac- 
count of my loss at sea, my burial in Cornwall, and my 
mother’s death in New Mexico. Greythorn’s health was 
much impaired by privation and exposure, and the 
Board of Missions readily granted him leave of absence. 

“ As soon as necessary preparations could be made. 
Jack, Lola, and myself started for home, travelling by 
way of Australia, in order to complete the circuit of the 
globe. 

When we reached San Francisco, we found some 
old papers, which contained the facts in regard to the 
fire at Clififview, the restoration of Majella’s sight, and 
the strange discovery of her mother. 

“ We heard no more until we reached Swindon, where 
we learned of the marriage which was to take place to- 
night. My first impulse was to return by the first train, 
but a great desire sprang up in my heart to see Majella 
again, and I resolved to be an uninvited guest at the 
wedding. 

“ When we arrived at Glen Oberon, Jack stopped at 
the lodge, promising to say nothing of my presence, 
while I came to take one more look at the old home and 
the dear ones, and then go away forever. 

“ I stood behind the tall plants in the hall while the 
guests assembled. I saw Harley and Majella come 
down the stairs and take their places in the parlor. 
Then, in my eagerness to look once more upon my little 
girl, I forgot everything and stepped out upon the 
threshold, where my brother saw and recognized me. 
Another moment, and all would have been over, and I 
gone. Harley, why did you betray my presence ?” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


297 


“ Because,” replied that young gentleman, turning 
from the window, “ I possess that confounded article 
known as a conscience. I knew Mella would marry me 
willingly enough with you dead, but she’d jiist as soon 
wed the biggest cannibal that ever lived on missionary 
soup as to marry me with you alive. When I saw you 
standing in the door-way, I said to myself, ‘ Old fellow, 
you’ve run this pen about long enough. Now the big pig 
has put in an appearance, you’d better creep in the straw 
and give him the swing and I crept. 

Here and now, in the presence of these witnesses, I 
relinquish all right and claim to the girl, who never did 
belong to me, and resign her to my brother, to whom 
she has been engaged ever since she was a baby. 

“ Victor, allow me to escort you to the altar, where 
you are to be offered. I know you young people feel a 
little timid about this affair, but the guests have been in- 
vited here to see a wedding, and a wedding they must 
see. 

“The minister has come to marry somebody, and 
somebody has got to be married. 

“ Miss Recie, just consider yourself bridesmaid, won’t 
you, please, while I play the part of best man. If I 
cannot act the old shark himself, and gobble up the 
innocent prey, I can at least be the second biggest fish 
in the swim.” 

Almost before they realized what was occurring, 
Victor and Majella stood before the altar, listening to 
the marriage service, answering the questions mechan- 
ically, hearing the clergyman pronounce them husband 
and wife. Then the guests awoke to the astonishing fact 
that, after all, Majella was Mrs. Heathburn, — but Mrs. 
Victor Heathburn. 


20 


298 


MAJELLA; OR, 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

AS GOOD FISH IN THE SEA. 

A HALF-HOUR had elapsed, and the excitement had 
somewhat subsided, when Colonel Heathburn and Mrs. 
Moranno, who had been conspicuous for their absence 
during the last ten m'inutes, entered the room, “ for all 
the world,” as Retta expressed it, “as if they were 
walking on air.” 

“ My friends,” the colonel said, and his voice was 
slightly tremulous, “you all know my story. You know 
that more than thirty years ago this lady promised to be 
my wife. Circumstances separated us, and reared an 
impassable barrier between us. To-night, the last of 
these barriers has been removed. Thank God, Julian 
Moranno, not my son, sleeps in that grave across the 
sea ! Madelon is free, and has at last consented to 
redeem the promise of her girlhood. Proceed, sir, pro- 
ceed with the ceremony.” 

“ Mother, father, I am so happy to-night !” Majella 
said, as she held a hand of each, and looked up at them 
smiling through her tears. 

“ And I, my child,” the colonel replied, “ I feel I owe 
all my happiness to you !” 

“ No, no ! we owe everything to God !” 

“You are right,” he answered, gravely; “and I 
acknowledge the debt. Here, in the presence of those 
who have heard me scoff at religion and sneer at Provi- 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 2gg 

dence, I confess that I was wrong, — fatally wrong. When 
the sunshine of prosperity smiled down upon me, I felt 
no need of God ; but when the shadows gathered, the 
death angel claimed my loved ones, as all the world 
seemed slipping from me, what would I not have given 
to possess Majella’s- faith ? I know it is late to begin 
serving God, but the Master received those who came 
at the eleventh hour. He has been patient and forbear- 
ing with me His wayward child, and, Mella, you must 
teach me how to show my gratitude.” 

“ Mella shall teach us all,” Victor said, joining the 
group. “ She has always been our little missionary. 
Blanche was right It was God who sent her to lead us 
into the light” 

“ Well, I’ll be hanged if the atmosphere of that parlor 
ain’t a little too warm for me !” Harley muttered, as he 
sauntered along the hall and entered the Snuggery, which 
the moonlight alone redeemed from darkness. 

“ Hello ! what’s this ?” he exclaimed, as he espied a 
little figure, coiled up in the window-seat, sobbing as if 
her heart would break. 

“ I — I Oh, go away !” she gasped. 

“ Why, Recie, what is the matter ? What on earth 
are you crying for ?” 

'' For — j/ou — of course ! It was the most dreadful 
thing that ever happened for him to come and steal her 
away, just when you were almost married, and she so 
sweet and beautiful !” 

“ Well, I’ll be shot ! I’d no idea any one would cry 
for me ! Why, little girl, I don’t feel half so bad as you 
give me credit for. After all, I believe I worship Majella 
instead of love her, and I can continue that sort of devo- 
tion now she is Victor’s wife, just as well as if she were 


300 


MAJELLA; OR, 


mine ; and it may be better, too, for ‘ distance lends en- 
chantment,’ and so forth, you know. All I’ve got to do 
is to dig some fresh bait and commence the game over. 
But, you can bet your last spring’s bonnet, I don’t bother 
with anybody’s trout streams this time. No, sir ! I’ll 
go straight out to the open sea, where no dead brothers 
can rise up and claim the fish as soon as they are caught. 
I haven’t a doubt I shall fall in love in less than a month. 
Why, I’d be married to-night, just to keep the ball roll- 
ing, if there was any one to marry. But there’s only the 
White girls, whose hair is the color of their name, and 
old Miss Dixson, who has a distinct remembrance of the 
day when the dove brought back the olive branch, and 
you — Recie. By Jove ! Pansy Blossom, let’s go in and 
have the old man tie the knot while he is in the mood !” 

Don't r the girl said, in a low, intense whisper. 
“You hurt me!” 

For a moment Harley looked at her in wonder, then a 
great light seemed to shine into his mischief-muddled 
brain. All at once he understood why this impulsive 
child-woman, this pansy blossom, as he called her, had 
avoided and snubbed him so unmercifully for the last 
few weeks. 

“ Recie 1” he exclaimed, as he knelt beside her and 
took her trembling hands in his, “ I am in earnest, — dead 
earnest I I love you. I believe I’ve loved you all my 
life, and centuries before! I regard Victor’s wife just 
as I do the angels and other flying fish, but it is you I 
adore and will live for, which may be a good deal harder 
than to die for. I know I’m rather an odd fellow. In 
fact, I think there must have been something wrong 
about the pattern by which I was cut. I’ve always been 
a little out of style ; but, they say, a clever woman can 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


301 


make almost anything over, if she has plenty of new 
goods to put with it, and combinations seem to be 
awfully stylish. So, won't you take me in hand, little 
girl ?” 

Recie did not answer. She only looked at him, won- 
dering how he could jest about a subject which, to her, 
was so terribly serious. 

Come,” he said, rising ; “ the old gentleman will have 
the ropes all put way if we don’t hurry ! Or, can’t you 
trust such a hopelessly black sheep ?” 

” I would trust you with my life, my hope of heaven !" 
she answered, passionately, laying her little cold fingers 
in the hand that clasped and held them so firmly. 

“ Then I’ve caught my fish,” he cried, with his irre- 
pressible mischief, “ and haven’t wasted much bait, either ! 
Now let me lead you into the parlor, and give those 
slow-going folks the third and biggest sensation of the 
evening.” 

“ What ! Do you really mean it ? Will you take me 
in there, and — and ” 

Marry you ? Of course I will ! Why not ?” 

But what would Victor and Colonel Heathburn think, 
and what would the people say ?” 

“ Confound the people ! I don’t care what they say ! 
And, as for the others, let Victor take care of his wild 
rose, now he’s got her, and the colonel cling to his frost- 
bitten dahlia, if he choose, but woe to the ghost, dead or 
alive, that steals away my pansy blossom !” And put- 
ting his arm about the fairy-like form, he lifted her 
lightly to his side. 

<< I — I Oh, Harley ! I am so afraid !” she whis- 

pered, clinging to him like a frightened child. 

” Why, I thought you ‘ wouldn’t be afraid of snakes. 


302 


M A JELL A; OR, 


or anything, if you were with me.’ I thought you 
regarded me as a sort of hero.” 

“Did Majella tell you that?” 

“ Certainly not. I was on the balcony that night at 
Interlaken, and heard all the flattering things you said 
about me. Now, don’t feel hurt, little one. It’s quite 
natural you should compliment your lord and master- 
elect, and,” with a sudden change of tone, “ I will take 
care of you.” 

He drew her gently to his side and kissed the face, 
rose red in the moonlight. 

Five minutes later, the already-excited crowd was 
electrified by the third marriage of the evening. 

Majella laughed and cried, and declared it was the one 
drop too much. The cup of her happiness had over- 
flowed. 

Retta quoted such recent proverbs as, “ It never rains, 
but it pours,” and “ Sheep go in flocks !” while Victor 
admitted that his brother was “the champion angler of 
the Heathburn family.” 

“ Do you remember that morning in Montgomery, 
when you so freely expressed your ideas in regard to 
marriage?” Majella asked, mischievously, as she stood a 
moment beside her new sister. 

“ Don’t mention it !” the girl whispered ; “ I never did 
tell the truth in those days; but, Mella,” looking wist- 
fully at her, “ do you think it is so very dreadful ?” 

“ Dreadful ? Why, you dear little goose ! I think it 
is the most fortunate thing in the world ! If Victor had 
not come to rescue me, I should have married Harley 
myself, and he would have run away with my bosom 
friend in less than a month ; for, I know now, he loved 
you all the while.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


303 

“ Nonsense ! How could anybody care for me ? But 
isn’t it wonderful ? If I could only write a story !” 

“ Well, you can’t, Mrs. Heathburn ! For all your 
spare time will be occupied in reconstructing the unfor- 
tunate victim who has fallen at your feet.” 

And Harley led away his blushing bride, announcing 
to the guests that, as there were “ no more lambs to be 
slain,” they would “now adjourn to the dining-room, 
where the wedding-feast” had “ been waiting for the last 
three hours !” 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

THE COMMON HERD, AFTER ALL. 

The Christmas bells of Glen Oberon rang out the 
“glad tidings of great joy.” The stars chanted to- 
gether, “ Glory to God in the highest;'' and the moon 
breathed, “ Peace on earth and good will towards men !” 

At Laurellawn “ all went merry as a marriage bell,” 
and, ’mid the laughter, the light, and the love, no one 
thought of the weary, heart-sick woman lying up-stairs 
alone, with the ghosts of shattered pride, faded beauty, 
and broken dreams. 

“ No, Mella,” she had said, when asked to join the 
guests in the drawing-room, “ you know I wish you all 
happiness, but I cannot meet those who remember me 
in the old, proud days. I cannot let them see how old 
and ugly I have grown. Leave me alone to my sorrow. 
Why should I shadow the joy of others ?” 

And her gentle nurse went away, sadly wondering if 
nothing could break the spell of that bitter, wordless 


304 


M A JELL A; OR, 


grief, if never again tears would moisten the eyes where 
madness still gleamed at times, as it had done on the 
night of the fire. 

Left alone, Louise fell into a state of half slumber, in 
which the events of the past rose like hollow-eyed 
phantoms, now advancing, now retreating, now gather- 
ing close around her, until, to her distorted fancy, they 
seemed like birds of prey darting hither and thither in 
the shimmering moonlight. 

Victor r The name rang like a bell through the 
silent room, and startled its occupant from her helpless 
terror. Hastening into the hall she leaned over the 
banisters, and through the open door-way saw her long 
lost brother clasping the fainting bride in his arms; 
while the guests crowded around him with eager, inco- 
herent words. 

Her first impulse was to join them in their welcome ; 
but, no. She had no lot or part in that reunion. She 
stood alone. Pride had planted about her a shield of 
roses which time had developed into an impassable wall 
of thorns that hedged her in on every hand. Sitting in 
the shadowy corridor, she listened to Victor’s story, 
every word of which could be distinctly heard in the un- 
broken stillness. 

And he has returned ! Jack Greythorn is at 
home !” she whispered, as she crept back into her room, 
shivering like some wounded creature that hears the 
dogs upon its track, and crouches deeper in the darkness 
of the cavern. 

“ Oh, I cannot bear it !” she cried, suddenly springing 
to her feet. “ The room is suffocating ! I must be out 
in the night, where I can think and breathe !” 

She snatched up a fur-lined cloak from the couch, and, 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


305 


wrapping it about her shoulders, sped down the ser- 
vants’ stairs, and out into the moonlight. On and on 
she rushed, never thinking, never caring whither, until 
her little strength was exhausted, and she sank down on 
a snow-covered rock close by the old rustic bridge. 

“ Oh, it is all too hard ! Too cruel !” she cried, 
bowing her face on her hands. “ Was not my punish- 
ment sufficient ? How can I meet this man who, of 
all others, has a right to scorn me? He will show 
no open contempt. He will speak no bitter, taunting 
words, but he will look at me sadly, oh, so sadly, 
just as an angel might look at a fallen, hopeless 
wreck.” 

“ Is you been naughty, lady ?” 

“Yes, very naughty,” Louise answered, almost un- 
consciously. Then she lifted her face, and saw a little 
mite of humanity standing in the snow beside her, her 
head and shoulders wrapped in an old black shawl. 

“ Why don’t you ask God to forgive you ?” 

“ Because God has forgotten me.” 

“ Me thought God didn’t forget nobody ; but if you’s 
Traid to ask him, why don’t you tell my papa ’bout it ?” 

“ Who is your papa?” 

“ He’s the missionary, in course, and I am Lola, — all 
he’s got left to love. It’s so cold in ’Merica ! My feet’s 
most froze !” 

Louise took the little one in her lap and wrapped her 
warm cloak around her. 

“ Is you got a mamma?” was the next question. 

“ No. My mamma is dead and buried far — far away.” 

“ Why, is she ? My mamma is in heaven, and that’s 
right close by. Say, do you know Lady Lola ?” 

“ No, dear. Who is she?” 


3o6 


MAJELLA; OR, 


“ I don’t ’xactly know; but she’s beautiful, and I guess 
my papa loves her, for he told me to pray for her every 
single night, and after I am frough with, ‘ Now I lay me 
down to sleep,’ and ‘ God bless papa, and grandpa, and 
grandma, and the pony, and everybody,’ I say, ‘ please 
take care of Lady Lola, and make her just as good as 
she can be.’ What makes you look so funny ? Is you 
goin’ to cry ?” 

But Louise could not answer, for her voice was 
choked with tears. The spell was broken at last. 
Hiding her face on the child’s shoulder, she burst into 
wild, passionate weeping. 

“ Is you so dreadful sorry ? Shall I tell papa ’bout it 
for you?” asked the child, smoothing the hand that 
clasped her so closely. 

“ Yes, Lola, tell him I am sorry. Oh, so sorry, and 
beg him to forgive me.” 

All was forgiven long ago,” a deep, earnest voice 
answered, and Jack Greythorn stood beside them. 

Louise did not attempt to speak. She only buried 
her burning face deep in the old shawl, while her slen- 
der form trembled with emotion. 

Papa, what makes you let her cry so ?” exclaimed 
Lola. When I’s sorry, you kiss me, and say you love 
me just the same. Don’t you love her, too ?” 

“ Oh, hush, hush !” Louise pleaded, then, putting 
down the child, she rose and turned towards the mission- 
ary, the old proud defiance gleaming in her eyes. 

“Why have you come here?” she asked, and her 
voice was low and calm. “ Did you wish to witness 
my humiliation ? Did you wish to see how ugly 
and disfigured I have grown ? Well, you shall be 
satisfied.” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 307 

She dropped the heavy cloak and revealed her slender 
figure, draped in a long loose robe of black. 

“ Look !” she cried, holding out her hands. “ See how 
they were scorched and scarred by the fire. Look at that 
scar on my forehead, which will never, never go away ! 
See how thin and white and old I have grown. Ah, yes ! 
It has all come true, — the prophecy you uttered that day. 

“ Do you know that to-night I am alone ? I have no 
part in the gladness up yonder. In all the wide world 
there is no one whose life would be saddened if I 
should die. Those who once flattered and complimented 
the beauty of Laurellawn, the wealthy banker’s bride, 
now pass unheeding by the woman whose husband died 
^ self-confessed murderer, or say, with a sneer, ^She 
is only reaping what she has sown ?’ ” 

Her voice died away in a whisper. Lifting the cloak, 
she replaced it about her shivering form ; as she did 
so, something fell from the inside pocket. Jack stooped 
and picked it up. There, in the moonlight, gleamed the 
violet velvet case that had played so mysterious a part 
in the Cliffview tragedy. 

What is this ?” he asked. 

“ That,” she answered, with a faint smile, “ is the price 
of my health and beauty. Did they not tell you of the 
treasure I rescued from the fire ?” 

They told me you faced death to save a casket of 
jewels, — a necklace of diamonds. I think I should like 
to see the gems for which you sacrificed so much.” 

Without waiting her permission he opened the case, 
and in its nest of pale yellow satin saw, not the 
Allingford diamonds, but the picture of a frank, dark- 
eyed boy; a spray of dead arbutus, and a bunch of 
withered roses. 


3o8 


MAJELLA; OR, 


Slowly he closed the case and turned to look at her, 
standing silent and motionless. 

“ And it was for these — these faded tokens of a love 
you scorned’ — that you risked everything ?” he said. 

Everything,” she echoed, dreamily. I risked noth- 
ing. That box was all I had. All that remained of 
truth and love and happiness. I meant to carry my 
secret to the grave and have that casket buried beside 
me. But perhaps ’twill make your triumph more com- 
plete to know I faced death to save the roses I once re- 
fused to wear. Now I must go, for the night is growing 
chill.” 

She took a step forward, but her strength was gone. 
For a moment she swayed like a tall tree struck down 
by the woodman’s axe; then, with a little pitiful cry, 
stretched out her hands to him. 

He took her in his arms, and, as her head sank on his 
shoulder, she whispered, — 

“ I am so tired, — let me rest a little, then I will go 
away — forever.” 

“ Lola, Lola ! my darling,” he murmured, and she 
could feel the wild throbbing of his heart. “Do you 
think I will let you go, knowing the secret that casket 
holds? Do you think you can drive me away when 
here, on your brow, you carry the indelible proof of 
your love for me ?” 

“ Don’t, don’t talk like that,” she sobbed ; “ I cannot 
bear it. I can endure scorn, reproach, but not your 
tender words. I am not worthy of even your pity. 
No, no ! You cannot make this sacrifice, — you so 
brave and strong, and I only a shadow, — a wreck !” 

“ Hush !” he said, very gravely. “ It is useless for 
you to rebel. You cannot deceive me now, my proud. 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


309 


sensitive darling ! I have captured you at last ; and I 
shall never, never let you go ! Before another Christ- 
mas eve I shall claim for my wife the only woman I 
have ever truly loved. 

“It is no wrong to Nellie’s memory to say it. She 
knew my story, and the night she went away from me 
she said, ‘ It will all come right at last, Jack. Some 
day you will go back to the old home, where she will be 
waiting for you.’ ” 

And in her utter weariness, how could Louise resist 
such wooing ? 

“ Take me up, papa. Me cold, and you don’t pay no 
’tendon !” 

“ God bless you, my baby !” Jack said, as he lifted her 
in his arms. “ It is you who have really plead and won 
my cause. Lola, this lady is going to be your mamma. 
You must love her, and be very, very good.” 

“ I does love her, ’cause she’s got a nice, warm cloak. 
If you’s going to be my mamma, why don’t you kiss 
me ?” 

Louise raised her flushed face and kissed the little 
peace-maker tenderly. Then, somehow, her lips touched 
the bronzed cheek so near to baby’s, and Jack felt that 
the dream of his boyhood was fulfilled. 

“ For the land sakes. Jack Greythorn ! Have you 
found her?” 

Very suddenly the missionary released his clasp of 
Jasper Allingford’s widow, and turned to meet his 
mother, who stood a few feet distant, the picture of 
horrified astonishment. 

“Yes, mother, I have found her. She must have 
slipped away while we were talking. I think you had 
better take her home with you now, for I — I ” But 


310 


MAJELLA; OR, 


here he paused in hopeless confusion. How could he 
bring these two together ? How could he ask Louise, with 
her life-long lessons of pride, to recognize this kind, but 
homely, plain-spoken woman, his mother ? 

The question was unexpectedly answered, when 
Louise herself stepped forward and, extending her hand 
to Mrs. Greythorn, said, — 

“ You used to like me when I was a little girl. Won’t 
you forget the pride and selfishness that have warped 
my life since then, and let me begin anew from to-night ? 
Lola loves me, and Jack loves me. Won’t you like me 
a little for their sake ?” 

Bless you, child. I’ve always loved you ! May God 
forgive me for all the mean, snarly things I said about 
you ! I only wanted to prepare my boy for what was 
coming. I knowed you had a warm heart under the 
ribbons and posies you wore ; and I used to watch you 
by the hour, you was so beautiful.” 

“But I am not beautiful now. I never shall be 
again.” 

“Ah, Miss Lou, you’re more beautiful to-night than 
ever you were before, for there are no scars on your 
heart.” 

“ Thank you, my darling, for your brave, kindly words 
to my mother,” Jack said, as they went up the path to- 
gether. 

“ It was not hard to say them,” she answered, simply. 
“ I know, at last, that it takes more than wealth, or 
beauty, or education, to make a true lady. Why should 
I not recognize her ? She is a nobler woman than I can 
ever be. Ah, Jack, the lesson was a hard one, but I have 
learned it well. To-night I am not ashamed to confess 
that, after all, I am ‘one of the common herd.’ ” 


NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


3II 


CHAPTER XLVIIL 

FIRELIGHT, MOONLIGHT, GOOD-NIGHT. 

It is spring on the Susquehanna, green-robed, flower- 
jewelled spring, with its music of water-falls, its song of 
robins and orioles. 

Only once the Christmas stars have shone since the 
night when Victor came back from his grave, mid the 
English cliffs, to claim his brother’s bride. But one 
shadow has fallen, if it can be called a shadow, when 
an old man folds his hands upon his breast and falls 
“ asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep, from which none ever 
wakes to weep.” 

am willing to go, my children,” Judge Kingston 
said, as they gathered around his bed-side, “ for I know 
you are safe, and God has given me a little while in 
which to retrieve as best I could the folly of the past.” 

They laid him down by the sad-voiced river under 
the tall Virginia grass, and though Madelon’s tears fell 
fast it comforted her to know that at last he had found 
the fair young wife who had awaited his coming so long. 

Penn and Retta still live in Swindon. Grandma Grey 
has rented a little nest of a house next door, and be- 
tween her and Mrs. Norfield, baby Blanche seems likely 
to be as thoroughly spoiled as the best child in the world 
can possibly be. 

Dr. Vanberg leads a strange, dreamful life at Rose 
Cottage, which he has purchased. In the summer he 


312 


MAJELLA; OR, 


spends much time at the grave beneath the willows, 
where fresh roses are always blooming. In the winter 
he watches the flickering firelight, and it may be fancy, 
it may be fact, but he believes that in that silent, shadowy 
room Christine comes and sits beside him, breathing 
words of hope and comfort. 

Bess and Golden no longer feed in the Lancaster 
meadows, for they wander at will through the sweet- 
scented woodland, or crop the fresh grass on the shores 
of Lake Echo. 

At Interlaken, bought with “ Grandfather Marshall’s 
worthless bequest,” Harley reigns as undisputed master, 
ruled only by Recie, the choicest little woman in 
America, if she was caught so easily who, in turn, is 
the abject slave of Lynn Strawson Heathburn, the three- 
months old baby, who bids fair to outshine his father 
in his love for mischief, and prove the blackest black 
sheep of the flock. 

“Why don’t you call him Richard or Victor or some- 
thing in the family?” Majella had asked ; but Harley 
and Recie knew they had christened their baby in honor 
of Lynola, the girl with the sweet old Spanish name, 
without whom they might never have found each other. 

In a large boarding-house in a busy Western city 
lives a faded, discontented woman, who teaches music 
to children who will not learn, and corrects French 
exercises for young ladies who are more interested in 
the gentlemen they met last evening than in the sweetest 
strain Corinne ever chanted. It is not an easy life, but 
it may teach Gertrude Kingston the lessons of kindness 
and charity which all her foreign education failed to do. 

Half hidden by Virginia creepers and bitter-sweet 
stands the parsonage of Glen Oberon, where a pale, 


NAMELESS AND BLIND, 313 

gentle woman, whom the villagers almost worship, is 
striving, with God’s help, to undo the tangled skein of 
her life and weave the new fabric firm and smooth. 
Lola loves her dearly, and is never tired of telling 
Grandpa Greythorn how she “ found her for papa,” as 
she sits on the door-step of the lodge sipping milk from 
the old blue bowl that has seen so many years of service. 

In Louise’s own room, where the heliotrope grows in 
the window, a violet-hued velvet casket stands on the 
dressing-case. Here and there the velvet is discolored 
as if by fire, but to her and Jack it is an almost priceless 
treasure, for it tells the story of a love that was stronger 
than pride, of a true woman’s heart that triumphed over 
prejudice and ambition. 

The missionary will not return to his far-off field of 
labor. His wife’s delicate health, his parents’ growing 
infirmity, and Lola’s education, all bind him to America. 
A year ago he joined the conference, and, at the earnest 
request of the villagers, was returned to preach the 
gospel in the little Gothic church around which cling 
such sacred memories. 

Already the people are wondering what they will do 
when the five years’ limit is up. 

“ Tell you what it is, boys,” the blacksmith remarks, 
as he takes the glowing iron from the forge, “ we’ll par- 
tition the Gineral Conference that’s goin’ ter meet in 
Omyhaw, to string out the time five years longer ; and 
if it don’t come right up to the scratch, we’ll set up a 
meetin’-house of our own, and take the parson with us. 
If the old church don’t lose the smartest fellow in it. 
I’m no judge o’ preachin’; that’s all.” 

At Laurellawn even the shadows of the past seem 
gilded by the sunshine of the present. Colonel and 

21 


314 MAJELLA; OR, NAMELESS AND BLIND. 


Mrs. Heathburn are still in Europe, where . they went 
soon after Judge Kingston’s death, but to Mella there 
is no spot in the world like the home among the laurels. 
It was there Victor found her almost eighteen years 
ago. There she passed her happy childhood. There, 
beneath the willows, he told her of his love. There she 
became his willing bride, and there she is standing with 
him now in the deep bay-window of the Snuggery, gaz- 
ing out into the still spring moonlight. 

“ How beautiful it is,” she says, with a deep sigh of 
content. “ I do not think those who have never been 
blind can quite appreciate it !” 

“ Then you do not regret those years of darkness ?” 

Regret them ? No. I am thankful for them. They 
tried my faith. They taught me the purest, sweetest 
lessons of my life. Victor,” clasping her hands about 
his arm, “ I should never have known how much you 
loved me, but for the time when I was only Majella, — 
Majella, nameless and blind P' 

The young moon bathes in its shimmering light Glen 
Oberon’s vale, where the fairies have left but a name. 
It touches the dew-wet myrtle that creeps o’er Blanche’s 
grave. It rests on the little white parsonage where 
Louise has found a refuge. It lingers about the home 
on the hill from which the shadows have fled, God grant, 
forever. 

And in the April eventide we draw our story to a 
close. The fire burns low upon the hearth. The moon 
sinks low among the hills. In the dying firelight and 
fading moonlight, Majella bids you all good-night. 


THE END. 

^ 765 






a 


I 








/ 



' ^ ^ '^oo^ v^ 





■'^ , 0 ^ a ’ 0 v^ 

' f/> 


7 



J. ■\'"^"'^'’' 4 * .V •^- • 

’ 3 , ^ 0 1 , \ '* ^0 . - 

/' 0 ^* 0 ^ <<, 




o 'J'^ ^ 

V * 0 ^ 

^ ^ A' </> 

\V '-^- ® -w/ \Kr * 

^ oV 

\ c^ ^ ^ ^ -A 

" ^ ^ * a\ . \ > 8 I, '/-* 0 o ^ A 


. O C 



' '"-A r*®^: 


s"^-^ -* 

■kir %<. » 


^ A ' i^V 

'o. , 0 ‘ C -f . 

C» •> 


^ '■^O 0 ^ 


m. ^ 

<J‘ 

<« 

V^' 



'jB "s. 

>,0°^. 


<p/' 

V>'\ '•'», '> *-■ O- s 

Or jA '>L 'Kf 

■' A \ 

^ A' ■’. 4 > ^ ^ 



' 'Kt. * 

> 

''“ol''/ 

^ V 

■ ■^' '^K 1%!^* 

^ 0 , X , 6 ^ 

. 0 -^ .C “ ^ ‘ 

" o’* ? "V- 

A. 


/ s''^ 

^ ^ <t ^ <\ X \ k 

•A 




v'SSS^.' 


A ., _ „ ■*>.».,>•' * 0 S 0 ’ Oi- 

’ ■ ^- \> » 

o> 

» k' >, 

<■ <'■ ■?, 'o . ■• * ^0 

*. o- . 0 ^ r “'-'■ */<? 

^ ^ ^ -o o' f -V 





/ •f' 


\ ' V 

i <■ 



= g 5 

Sk^ <<- 



I 

o'- s ' ” ' „ "■'c- * ’ ~ ° v'''' » ' * " A '^■> * ' ' ' * o"^ k ' ' • * ■’ ^ 

i .'jiti^' -f. <-.Rs> V ^,x^- -P. 








• 

1 ^ 

\ ^ O 4 \» ^ 

: ,<^ - 


5 vJ 

^ s ^ ^ 



° '^ct' 




^ ^U- » •«> %s ^ -i oV ✓ 

.Tk .^/yTO^ ■> _srS:^_^ . ’5>'. 



^ -t. ^•<-' 

^ ^ 

> )J- '^. 4, 



r V- > 





:' % X 

xV '/» ^ “ c.'o ^ ^ 

Y-f ^09 v ^ ^ 

V'«« .(V 

^ -o o' : ^ 



, * 

“ ° ■ci> "" 

s. rf- 


: x° °-<' ” 

.' o*' '^o 

0 ’ ^ ” o\ s;^ „> ^ ^ 

' . ^ . 65 . /!*'•• .>» /»‘N *»• '^’ 

h ^ ^ 

c^ "'i' - ^^i!i'''l'f^ '"' \V ° V, 

'//.-‘*2^ -fi . < cr^-'vW'li^^ _ 


X* 







